5THNWOOD 

BY-  LUCY- GIBBONS  -MORSfr 


* 

T 


ittcp  (0tf>ijons  Jflorsc* 


THE  CHEZZLES.    A  Story  for  Young  People.    Illus 
trated  by  the  Author.     Crown  8vo,  $1.50. 

RACHEL  STAN  WOOD.     A  Story  of  the  Middle  of  the 
Nineteenth  Century.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN  &  CO. 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


RACHEL  STANWOOD 


A   STORY  OF  THE  MIDDLE    OF  THE 
NINETEENTH  CENTURY 


BY 


LUCY  GIBBONS  MORSE 


BOSTON    AND    NEW   YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 


1893 


.    „     ,     Copyright,  1893, 
Ij/L.UCY  GIBBONS  ,I 

•  "•  £ti  rtff!ii$  reserved.  • 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  and  Company. 


TO  THE    MEMORY  OF 
MY  FATHER  AND  MOTHER 

JAMES    SLOAN    GIBBONS 

AND 

ABBY    HOPPER    GIBBONS 

THIS  BOOK  IS  GRATEFULLY 
DEDICATED 


M32945 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  A  DOOR  ON  THE  LATCH 
II.   FRIENDS  AND  FRIENDS 33 

III.  "  HAWYET  WILSON  "  ...    71 

IV.  MlSS   MACCLARE   BEGINS   A   NEW    CAREER 

V.   GETTING  EEADY 1( 

VI.   GRACE  DESBOROUGH 

VII.   THE  FIRST  DAY  AT  THE  FAIR       .        .        .        •  1< 
VIII.   FACE  TO  FACE  WITH  THE  QUESTION 

IX.   A  SLEIGH  RIDE 185 

X.   TIBBIE  LEARNS  ABOUT  ORGAN  STOPS         .        .       194 
XI.   TIBBIE  AND  HAVILAH     ......  205 

XII.   DEUTERONOMY  xxvm 

XIII.  THE  ARISTOCRACY  AT  AUNT  PEGGY'S  .        .        .  226 

XIV.  RACHEL'S  TALISMAN 245 

XV.   AT  THE  BLACKSMITH'S  SHOP 254 

XVI.   ANOTHER  DIFFICULTY  FOR  THE  DESBOROUGHS  .      269 
XVII.   IN  THE  OFFICE  OF  THE  NEW  FIRM       .        .        .281 
XVIII.  ELOISE  MEDDLES  AT  THE  RIGHT  MOMENT 
XIX.   A  VIOLIN,  AND  SHADOWS        .  ...  297 

XX.   DANGER 315 

XXI.   HAVILAH 335 

XXII.   TRACING  FOOTSTEPS 

XXIII.  ANSWERS  TO  CERTAIN  QUESTIONS 

XXIV.  Miss  GRAYTHORN  EXPLAINS  THOROUGH-BASS  TO 

GRACE  DESBOROUGH 

XXV.   IN  THE  NAME  OF  THF.  LAW 375 

XXVI.    ANOTHER  LAW     . 

XXVII.   "  FAILED  ?  " 39" 

XXVIII.   Miss  MACCLARE'S  POPULARITY  .         .        .        .      40C 

XXIX.   THE  STANWOOD  CODE 413 

XXX.   HOME .427 

XXXI.   RIGHT-ABOUT  FACE! 437 


RACHEL  STANWOOD. 


CHAPTER   I.      '*.   A:,a5;'  Vi 
A   DOOR   ON   THE   LATCH. 

TEN  years  or  thereabouts  before  our  civil  war,  in 
the  city  of  New  York,  in  one  of  the  cross  streets 
between  Ninth  and  Tenth  avenues,  Twelfth  and 
Twentieth  streets,  there  was  a  row  of  six  three- 
story,  red  brick  houses  with  green  blinds,  high  door 
steps,  and  small,  neat  grass  plots  in  front.  The 
houses  were  numbered  from  264  to  274.  In  the 
grass  patch  before  No.  268  a  honeysuckle  vine  was 
planted  and  trained  upon  wires  so  as  to  conceal  the 
drain -pipe  and  climb  almost  as  far  as  the  top  of 
the  parlor  windows.  In  front  of  the  house,  by  the 
curbstone,  were  two  flourishing  young  horse-chestnut 
trees  with  tall,  green-painted  wooden  pantalettes  on 
their  trunks  for  protection.  There  were  no  other 
trees  on  the  block,  the  main  part  of  which  was 
occupied  by  vacant  lots  and  lumber  yards.  Along 
Tenth  Avenue,  where  the  Hudson  River  Railroad 
ran,  was  a  row  of  irregular  buildings  with  shabby 
stores  on  the  ground  floor. 

In  the  Ninth  Avenue  quarter  of  the  block  above 
stood  the  ponderous  house  and  stable,  greenhouse 


2  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

and  garden  of  the  Theophilus  W.  branch  of  the 
great  Yon  Storaway  family,  but,  from  their  in- 
closure  to  the  coal  yard  011  the  Tenth  Avenue  corner, 
were  only  other  vacant  lots  and  a  row  of  low  wooden 
shops  occupied  by  mechanics. 

NoS  26,8  was  the  home  of  a  Quaker  family  named 
.  Stan  wood,  —  Friends  Joseph  and  Deborah  Stan- 
wood  .  and  /their  children,  Rachel,  Elizabeth,  and 
Richard.  They  were  among  the  most  liberal  even 
of  the  liberals  of  the  Hicksite  Quakers,  and  were 
interested,  practically,  not  theoretically,  in  reforms. 
First  and  principally  they  were  abolitionists.  Their 
house  was  a  regular  station  on  the  Underground 
Railroad,  being  one  of  the  safest  and  best  refuges 
in  the  city  for  runaway  slaves,  and  at  the  time  of 
conventions  or  reform  meetings  it  was  crowded 
with  visitors  of  every  shade  of  complexion,  from 
white  to  darkest  African. 

The  Stanwood  family  went  in  a  body  to  reform 
meetings,  from  which  the  children  came  home  with 
all  kinds  of  badges,  which  it  delighted  their  souls  to 
wear,  —  red,  blue,  and  white  ones  for  the  republic 
France  wanted;  red,  white,  and  green  ones  for 
Hungary  and  Kossuth;  green  ones  for  oppressed 
Ireland;  Am-I-not-a-Man-and-a-Brother  ones  for 
the  slave,  etc.,  etc.  The  family  hearts  bled  to 
gether  for  the  slave,  for  Hungary  and  Poland,  for 
the  emigrant,  the  impecunious  foreigner,  the  unsuc 
cessful  artistic  or  literary  genius,  professor  of 
science,  or  scholar  who  could  speak  seven  languages 
but  could  not  earn  a  living  in  one;  for  the  prisoner 
whose  trial  was  pending  and  the  discharged  convict 


A  DOOR  ON  THE  LATCH.  3 

who  had  to  begin  all  over  again  to  make  life  respect 
able  ;  for  the  saint,  the  sinner,  and  the  sinned  against, 
and  for  abused,  suffering  children  everywhere.  The 
Stanwoods  closed  their  hearts  to  nobody.  They 
never  had  a  servant  who  was  not  either  a  fugitive 
slave,  a  newly  arrived  immigrant  or  a  discharged 
convict.  In  one  department  or  another  there  was 
always  in  the  house  some  special  sinner  (or  sinners) 
in  process  of  reformation. 

On  a  certain  morning  in  September,  Mrs.  Stan- 
wood  and  her  daughter  Rachel  were  busy  in  the 
large  second-story  back  room,  which  they  were  pre 
paring  for  an  expected  guest.  The  room  properly 
belonged  to  Rachel  and  her  little  sister  Elizabeth, 
but  they  were  to  move  themselves  and  their  belong 
ings  into  the  little  front-hall  bedroom  upstairs. 

Mrs.  Stanwood  was  forty-seven,  short,  and  in 
clined  to  be  stout.  Her  light  brown  hair,  begin 
ning  to  silver,  was  brushed  down  smoothly  over  her 
temples,  turned  behind  her  ears,  and  twisted  into  a 
knot  at  the  back  of  her  head.  Her  eyes  were  more 
noticeable  because  of  the  quick,  direct  way  they  had 
of  seeing  instantly  what  they  looked  at,  than  for 
their  color,  which  was  blue.  She  had  still  a  remark 
ably  fresh  complexion,  and  when  she  smiled  showed 
the  prettiest  of  teeth.  For  typical  Quaker  serenity 
she  was  too  active;  every  motion  betrayed  her 
energy,  but  she  was  deft,  not  bustling,  and  it  was 
curious,  watching  her,  to  notice  how  few  motions 
she  wasted.  She  looked  as  if  it  would  be  difficult 
for  her,  even  at  meeting,  to  do  nothing  but  sit  still 
and  look  placid.  She  wore  a  gingham  dress  of  the 


4  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

finest  possible  check,  black  and  white,  the  neck  of 
it  cut  so  as  to  show  just  a  fold  of  white  lace  crossed 
underneath,  over  her  bosom.  She  had  on  a  long 
white  apron,  but  she  did  not  wear  the  white  ker 
chief  usually  adopted  by  Quaker  women  of  her  age ; 
she  said  it  required  too  much  time  to  adjust,  and 
that  it  made  her  warm. 

Her  daughter  Rachel,  who  was  twenty,  was  tall, 
finely  formed,  and  very  handsome,  with  a  fair  skin, 
dark  hair  and  eyes,  and  color  which  flashed  easily 
from  throat  to  forehead.  She  had,  in  addition  to  the 
quick,  effective  movements  of  her  mother,  a  carriage 
that  was  noble.  She  was  habitually  too  grave,  but 
her  smile  was  of  rare  sweetness.  She  had  on  a  cot 
ton  gown  dotted  with  tiny  pale  blue  sprigs  and  fitting 
her  perfectly.  She,  too,  wore  a  long  white  apron. 

Mrs.  Stan  wood  was  getting  clean  sheets  from  a 
linen  closet  in  the  entry,  just  outside  of  the  room 
door. 

"Mother,"  said  Eachel,  raising  her  voice  and 
laying  her  hands  on  the  mattress  which  was  turned 
over  the  footboard  of  the  bed,  "does  Frederika 
Bremer  sleep  on  a  feather-bed?" 

"She  oughtn't  to;  it  isn't  healthy,"  said  Mrs. 
Stanwood,  coming  into  the  room  to  see  the  mark  on 
the  corner  of  a  sheet.  "These  are  the  ones.  Put 
the  feather-bed  under,  where  it  belongs,  and  we  will 
change  it,  if  she  prefers." 

Rachel  gave  the  feathers  a  heave  toward  the  head 
of  the  bed  and  turned  the  mattress  over  to  its  place. 

"These  are  mended;  don't  thee  want  the  best 
ones?  "  she  asked,  looking  at  the  end  of  the  sheet 


A  DOOR  ON  THE  LATCH.  5 

which  her  mother  tossed  to  her  from  the  opposite 
side  of  the  bed. 

"I  'm  afraid  they  are  all  mended,  dear;  these  are 
the  best,"  said  her  mother,  and  smiled  while  she 
added,  "but  if  Frederika  notices  them  at  all  it  will 
be  because  of  the  neatness  of  the  mending,  so  thee 
need  not  be  troubled." 

When  the  bed  was  ready,  all  but  the  coverlid, 
Mrs.  Stan  wood  brought  in  from  the  linen -closet  a 
many-colored  patchwork  spread.  "Oh,  mother,  not 
that  frightful  thing!"  exclaimed  Rachel.  "Miss 
Bremer  will  have  nightmare  under  it." 

"Now,  Rachel!  She  will  appreciate  it,  and  will 
admire  every  patch  when  she  learns  its  history," 
said  Mrs.  Stanwood,  stroking  it.  But  Rachel  was 
evidently  not  going  to  accept  any  defense  of  the 
article,  for,  while  her  mother  was  speaking,  she  had 
procured  from  the  closet  another  spread  of  light, 
flowered  chintz. 

"  Now  there,  mammy  dear!  "  she  said  coaxingly, 
taking  the  patchwork  one  away  and  tossing  it  011  a 
chair.  "  We  '11  tell  Miss  Bremer  the  history  of 
every  orphan  at  the  asylum  who  sewed  a  stitch  of  it, 
and  she  can  put  it  into  her  next  novel,  if  she  wants 
to,  —  that  is,  if  she  can  invent  a  character  with  taste 
bad  enough  to  submit  to  it." 

"Well,  well;  it  does  n't  look  ugly  to  me,"  said 
the  little  lady,  smoothing  the  chintz  cover  on  her 
side  of  the  bed. 

"Of  course  it  does  n't,"  Rachel  exclaimed,  "  be 
cause  thee  does  n't  see  it.  Thee  sees  nothing  but 
the  orphans  sitting  around  and  quilting  it  for  thee, 


6  EACH  EL  STAN  WOOD. 

and  every  orphan  is  a  beauty,  in  thy  eyes.  But  it 
is  hideous  to  behold,  mammy  dear,  and  the  only  way 
to  use  it  will  be  to  put  it,  wrong-side-out,  under  the 
outer  spread.  Too  late  for  that  now.  If  thee  's 
broken-hearted,  I  '11  put  it  on  Abner  Cumley^s  bed, 
if  he  conies !  " 

"Child!  child!  I  'in  afraid  thee  does  n't  appre 
ciate  him,  either,"  said  her  mother,  but  with  lurking 
amusement  in  her  expression. 

"Yes  I  do,  but  I  'd  like  him  better  if  he  'd  fix  his 
hair  like  an  ordinary  Christian.  I  don't  see  any 
virtue  in  being  outlandish,"  Rachel  said.  "But 
since  he  likes  that  sort  of  thing,  let  him  sleep  under 
the  orphans'  quilt." 

"Well,  have  it  thy  own  way,  dear,"  said  her 
mother,  "and  make  haste  to  get  the  rooms  ready, 
for  we  have  a  busy  day  before  us.  When  thee  is 
through  up  here,  will  thee  take  a  look  at  the  parlors 
and  see  if  they  are  all  right?  " 

"Yes,  I  will,  providing"  -  and  Rachel,  smiling, 
waited  for  her  mother  to  ask,  "Providing  what?" 

"Providing  thee  won't  bring  out  any  more  offer 
ings  of  gratitude.  Thee  has  had  a  perfect  deluge 
of  them  lately.  And  don't  thee  go  mousing  round 
after  me  and  find  out  how  many  I  've  hidden  away. 
Don't  miss  anything,  will  thee,  thee  naughty  little 
mammy?  " 

"That  reminds  me;  get  me  my  birthday  china 
from  the  second  shelf  in  the  spare-room  closet,"  said 
Mrs.  Stan  wood,  moving  away  an  armchair  from  the 
bedside  and  placing  in  its  stead  a  small  mahogany 
table  with  a  drawer  in  it. 


A  DOOE  ON  THE  LATCH.  7 

"What  on  earth  is  it  for?  "  asked  Rachel,  return 
ing  with  a  cherry-wood  tray  on  which  was  a  little 
single  service  of  delicate  china. 

O 

"I  am  going  to  send  Frederika's  breakfast  up  to 
her  and  I  know  she  will  enjoy  it  more  out  of  the 
birthday  'offering'  of  my  children.  She  has  an 
eye  for  the  beautiful,"  said  Mrs.  Stanwood. 

"  And  one  for  our  convenience  as  well,  if  she  only 
knew  it,"  said  Rachel.  "We  can  get  through  all 
the  morning  work  before  she  comes  down.  I  '11 
bring  her  breakfast  up  myself,  —  Harriet  would 
sprinkle  it  all  the  way  along.  Only  this  tray  won't 
be  big  enough." 

"Oh  yes,  it  will,"  said  Mrs.  Stanwood,  putting 
some  napkins  into  the  table-drawer.  "There!  I 
must  have  clean  napkins  and  an  extra  knife,  fork  and 
spoon  kept  in  here.  She  doesn't  want  anything 
for  breakfast  but  '  a  cup  of  ca-fay '  and  a  potato 
which  she  wants  me  'to  have  boiled  in  the  tea-kettle, 
to  save  trouble. '  Now,  can  thee  do  the  rest  alone?  " 

"Of  course,"  said  Rachel,  "only  let  me  under 
stand  about  the  others.  Frederick  Douglas  is  to  be 
in  the  front  room  upstairs,  and  Abner  Cumley  is  to 
go  into  Dick's  room?" 

"Frederick  Douglas's  room  is  all  ready,"  said 
Mrs.  Stanwood,  looking  up  from  the  staircase,  which 
she  was  now  descending.  "Don't  fix  Abner's  room 
until  I  send  thee  word,  as  he  may  not  come.  If  he 
does  not,  thee  has  only  Betty  and  thyself  to  look 
after,  when  this  room  is  finished." 

It  was  very  evident  that  the  prospect  of  Miss 
Bremer's  visit  was  agreeable  to  the  family,  for,  in 


8  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

a  moment  or  two  after  Mrs.  Stanwood  had  disap 
peared,  there  was  a  breezy  movement  on  the  stairs, 
and  a  round-faced,  hot  little  boy  of  eight,  breath 
ing  hard  from  running,  came  into  the  room  with  a 
bunch  of  asters  which  Rachel  barely  prevented  him 
from  dumping  upon  the  bed.  He  delivered  his 
message  in  phrases  suited  to  his  breathing,  getting 
rid  of  it  as  soon  as  possible.  "Father  cut  those  — 
for  Miss  Fred'rick —  Douglas  and  Betty's  —  going 
to  get  her  a  bunch  —  too  'n  so  'm  I  —  'cause  she  's 
going  to  tell  us  some  stories  —  put  'em  in  water." 

Eachel  corrected  him  as  to  the  name.  "Yes,  I 
know,"  he  said,  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his 
face  with  his  sleeves.  "An'  Mr.  Somebody  is 
coming  an'  he  's  to  have  my  room  an'  I  'm  to  sleep 
in  the  trundle-bed  an'  that 's  all."  And  he  was 
off,  clattering  down  the  stairs  with  frightful  ra 
pidity. 

It  was  not  anniversary  week,  but  the  coming  of  a 
crowd  of  guests  was  so  common  an  event  that  the 
family  were  never  either  surprised  or  disturbed  by  it. 
The  children  were  accustomed  to  giving  up  their 
rooms  and  beds  to  visitors,  on  the  shortest  notice. 
In  their  early  childhood  they  became  used  to  being 
awakened  by  their  mother  saying,  — 

"Too  bad  to  disturb  thee,  dear,  but  I  want  thy 
bed  for  company;  thee  get  into  the  trundle-bed." 

They  would  make  the  change  only  half  awake, 
curl  up  in  the  trundle-bed  and  go  to  sleep  while  she 
was  tucking  them  in,  learning,  as  they  grew,  not  to 
stretch  too  much. 

Richard  was  the  only  one  now  who  could  adapt 


A  DOOR  ON  THE  LATCH.  9 

himself  to  the  little  bed.  His  hurry  to  get  down 
stairs  was  that  he  might  rejoin  his  father,  who  was 
doing  some  work  on  the  grapevine  over  the  hen 
coop,  and  was  in  a  hurry  to  go  down  town  to  his 
business. 

Mr.  Stanwood  was  a  little  over  fifty,  with  a  spare 
figure,  irregular,  sharply  cut  features,  straight, 
iron-gray  hair,  and  dark  eyes  which  were  rather 
dreamy  but  which  lighted  up  easily,  particularly 
with  an  appreciation  of  the  comic.  His  forehead 
was  full  and  high,  and  his  face,  being  smooth- 
shaven,  showed  the  lines  upon  it  prominently. 

When  Eichard  reached  the  garden,  his  father 
was  talking  with  a  singular-looking  gentleman.  It 
was  necessary  to  get  over  the  effect  of  his  hair  and 
beard  before  looking  at  the  rest  of  him.  Both  were 
chestnut  brown;  his  hair  dressed  in  tight,  springy 
curls  which  reached  his  shoulders,  and  his  beard, 
full  and  wavy,  falling  half  way  to  his  waist.  In 
contrast  with  the  rather  prevailing  fashion  of  shav 
ing  the  chin,  the  hair  upon  Mr.  Cumley's  head  and 
face  presented  a  striking  appearance.  It  was  the 
only  part  of  him  upon  which  much  care  seemed  to 
have  been  bestowed ;  below  that  his  interest  in  him 
self  seemed  to  die  out.  His  head  seemed  to  be 
made  for  ornament,  the  rest  of  him  for  use.  He 
was  tall  and  of  a  somewhat  clumsy  build.  His 
clothes,  which  were  of  a  homespun  order,  had  seen 
better  days;  and  he  wore  stout,  serviceable  shoes. 
His  face,  what  could  be  seen  of  it,  was  not  unpleasing. 

It  did  not  prepossess  Richard,  however,  for  he 
planted  himself  at  his  father's  side,  watched  the 


10  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

gentleman  a  minute  and  then  said  to  himself, 
"That 's  the  feller  what 's  going  to  have  my  bed." 

Richard  did  not  object  to  anything  about  him  but 
his  curls.  While  he  was  looking  at  them,  Mr. 
Cumley  was  saying:  "It  looks  as  if  the  under 
ground  railroad  would  be  in  active  service  within  a 
day  or  two,  and  as  if  an  express  train  might  have  to 
start  any  minute  from  this  very  place." 

"We  will  be  prepared  for  an  emergency,"  said 
Mr.  Stan  wood.  "The  hencoop  way  is  safe  and 
Harriet  is  warned,  so  that  she  will  escape,  even  if 
her  master  comes  here  for  her." 

"Thee  has  neglected  to  introduce  me,  Friend 
Stan  wood,"  interrupted  Mr.  Cumley,  seeing  Rich 
ard  scrutinizing  him,  and  afraid  the  child  would 
understand  too  much  of  what  his  father  was  saying. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Stanwood,  his  seriousness 
transformed,  at  once,  into  beaming  pride  in  his  lit 
tle  son.  With  a  pretense  of  having  something  of 
great  importance  on  hand,  he  turned  to  Richard, 
whom  he  hastily  put  through  a  formal  presentation 
and  hand-shaking,  and  said:  "This  is  my  head 
workman  —  Mr.  Trudge.  Friend  Cumley,  Mr. 
Trudge.  Yes,  sir!  Now,  Mr.  Trudge,  we  are 
obliged  to  leave  you  to  pile  this  rubbish  into  the 
wheelbarrow  and  carry  it  to  the  corner  heap. 
You  will  find  your  wages  this  evening,  sir,  in  my 
left-side  vest  pocket.  Good-morning,  sir!  " 

"All  right,  sir!"  said  Richard,  in  a  gruff  voice 
intended  to  sound  like  a  laborer's,  and  proceeding 
at  once  to  rake  up  the  grapevine  cuttings  which 
strewed  the  path. 


A  DOOR  ON  THE  LATCH.  11 

Mr.  Stanwood  looked  at  Mr.  Cumley  to  see 
whether  his  son  was  fully  appreciated,  nodded  his 
acceptance  of  that  gentleman's  rather  absent-minded 
interest,  and  disappeared  with  him  into  the  house 
by  way  of  a  broad  piazza  which  overshadowed  the 
kitchen  windows. 

Behind  the  little  yards  belonging  to  the  row  of 
houses,  extended,  on  one  side  of  the  Stan  woods',  va 
cant  lots  with  here  and  there  low  temporary  build 
ings,  for  the  most  part  occupied  in  the  day-time 
only,  by  working  people.  Beyond  the  lots  were 
factories  and  an  iron  foundry.  On  the  other  side 
was  a  large  lumber  yard  which  reached  back  to  the 
street  in  the  rear.  For  a  small  sum  Mr.  Stanwood 
had  obtained  permission  to  fence  in  the  lot  behind 
his  own  yard,  and  had  converted  it  into  a  beautiful 
garden.  It  also  reached  to  the  rear  street,  to  which 
there  was  an  exit  through  a  door  cut  in  the  fence. 
Around  the  edges  of  the  garden  were  rich  grape 
vines  and  wide  flower-beds  which  were  always  bright 
with  the  season's  flowers.  There  were  crocuses, 
hyacinths  and  tulips  in  the  spring,  and  all  summer, 
richly  bordered  with  mountain  pinks  and  sweet  alys- 
sum,  were  beds  of  petunias,  Johnny  -  jump  -  ups, 
pansies,  roses,  coreopsis,  and  what  the  children  liked 
best,  phlox  and  larkspur.  They  liked  them  because 
they  could  make  such  pretty  little  wreaths  and  chains 
with  them,  and  the  middles  of  the  larkspurs  pulled 
out  so  neatly  and  fitted  so  exactly  into  one  another. 
Then  it  was  fun  to  make  fairy  cream-pitchers  and 
shoes  out  of  the  lady's-slippers;  but  the  prettiest 
thing  was  a  teapot  made  of  a  crab -apple  by  biting 


12  EACHEL  STANWOOD. 

off  a  bit  of  the  long  stem,  sticking  it,  bulgy  end  out, 
for  a  nose,  into  one  side  of  the  apple,  and  turning 
the  rest  of  the  stem  over  and  sticking  it  into  the 
opposite  side  for  a  handle. 

Surrounded  by  lumber  yards,  factories  and  noisy 
workshops,  with  engine  smoke  floating  over  it  when 
the  wind  pleased,  it  was  a  rare  and  lovely  home- 
garden,  with  an  abundance  of  flowers  and  a  crop  of 
both  fruit  and  vegetables  large  enough  to  supply 
the  family  and  leave  a  generous  share  for  others  in 
many  a  time  of  need.  In  every  part  it  gave  evi 
dence  of  a  genius  for  making  the  most  out  of  every 
thing. 

Wherever  there  was  an  immovable,  misshapen 
rock,  vines  were  trained,  or  an  arbor  built  over  it, 
and  the  inexhaustible  imagination  of  Mr.  Stanwood 
created  a  romance  to  suit  it.  There  was  very  little 
money  in  the  family,  and  imagination  was  cultivated 
largely  to  take  its  place.  An  old,  dead  apple-tree, 
cut  down  and  sawed  up,  provided  a  gnarled,  de 
formed  piece  out  of  which  dear  old  "Benjamin 
Bump,"  the  children's  rocking-horse,  was  made; 
another  grotesque  bit  made  "Timothy  Tickleboy," 
a  sort  of  familiar,  who  was  fastened  up  by  the  hen 
coop  to  frighten  away  witches  from  the  new  little 
chicks;  and  the  smaller  twigs  of  the  old  tree  were 
used  for  a  fence  around  the  petunia  bed.  The  very 
clothes  posts  were  invested  with  personality  and 
made  interesting.  Being  originally  too  high  for 
convenience,  Mr.  Stanwood  sawed  off  the  tops  and 
converted  them  into  a  family  of  dolls  for  the  chil 
dren.  He  painted  expressive  faces  on  them,  and 


A  DOOR   ON  THE  LATCH.  13 

the  cross-pieces  which  had  served  to  wind  the  lines 
on  answered  for  arms.  They  were  called  "The 
Timberkins"  and  lived  in  the  deserted  hencoop. 

The  hencoop  had  been  deserted  for  some  years; 
in  fact,  hens  enjoyed  its  privileges  for  only  one 
season.  The  family  imagination  surrounding  them, 
as  it  did  everything  else,  made  it  impossible  to  put 
them  to  ordinary  uses.  The  family  rebelled  at 
sight  of  a  fricassee  made  out  of  "  General  Fluff  and 
his  wife! "  It  became  difficult  to  reconcile  the  fam 
ily  conscience  even  to  taking  the  eggs  and  thereby 
disappointing  the  hopes  of  motherly  hens.  The 
Stanwood  purse  could  not  support  hens  on  these 
principles,  and  they  were  finally  transferred  to 
Uncle  Thomas  Fitch's  farm.  There  was  also,  at 
the  far  end  of  the  garden,  a  deserted  pig-sty  which 
had  a  similar  history.  Two  cunning  little  white 
pigs  had  once  been  styed  there  in  the  neatest  and 
most  approved  fashion.  They  were  fed  and  talked 
to  over  their  fence,  and  learned  to  run,  the  moment 
anybody  appeared,  to  have  their  backs  scratched 
with  long  sticks  kept  for  the  purpose.  But  they 
grew,  and  the  time  of  sacrifice  had  to  come.  "Dar 
by  and  Joan's  "  spareribs  were  not  any  more  appe 
tizing  than  the  Fluff  fricassee  had  been,  and  the 
pork  was  sent  to  Mrs.  Stanwood's  pet  institution. 
The  sty  was  converted  into  a  diminutive  chip  yard 
where  twigs  and  cuttings  from  the  garden  were 
thrown.  A  little  blacksmith-shop  had  been  recently 
put  up  next  to  it,  and  Elizabeth  and  Richard  liked 
to  stand  on  the  sty-fence  boards  to  look  through  the 
side  window  and  watch  the  men  make  horseshoes. 


14  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

After  his  experience  with  the  hens  and  pigs,  Mr. 
Stanwood  abandoned  all  attempts  to  imitate  farm 
life  in  the  city  and  devoted  himself  to  his  garden 
only. 

The  hencoop  where  Richard  was  at  work  was  on 
the  western  side  of  the  garden,  against  the  fence 
which  was  next  to  the  lumber  yard.  On  the  oppo 
site  side,  playing  by  herself  in  an  arbor,  was  Eliza 
beth.  She  was  ten  years  old,  with  golden  hair, 
deep  blue  eyes  which  were  always  dreamy,  a  fair 
complexion,  and  expressive  rather  than  pretty  fea 
tures.  She  was  seated  on  a  small  rustic  chair  sew 
ing,  with  her  work-basket  on  a  large  rock  which  was 
against  the  fence  at  the  back  of  the  arbor. 

There  was  a  looking-glass  on  the  rock,  leaning 
against  the  fence.  Elizabeth  was  making  herself  a 
fancy  apron,  like  her  friend,  Eloise  Desborough's, 
and  had  brought  the  mirror  from  the  house  because 
it  was  necessary  to  see  how  it  fitted.  Eloise 's  was 
made  of  India  muslin,  and  Elizabeth  was  making 
hers  out  of  an  old  window  curtain  her  mother  had 
given  her  to  cut  up.  The  Timberkin  family  were 
standing  on  the  rock,  either  side  of  the  glass.  Eliza 
beth's  method  of  sewing  was  interesting,  but  it  was 
not  the  method  of  an  expert.  All  her  cutting,  fit 
ting,  turning  of  hems,  adjusting,  etc.,  was  carried  on 
with  her  needle  and  long  thread  in  her  hand.  Her 
intention  was  to  have  them  ready  for  use  when 
needed,  but  the  result  of  her  forehandedness  was 
much  snarling  of  thread,  dropping  of  scissors,  the 
slipping  away  of  her  needle,  the  discovery,  just 
when  her  fingers  were  pinching  a  difficult  place  to 


A  DOOR  ON  THE  LATCH.  15 

be  secured  by  a  stitch  and  saved  from  readjusting, 
that  her  needle  was  unthreaded,  and  so  on. 

Her  work  proceeded  through  many  tribulations, 
because  of  that  needle  and  thread  always  pinched 
up  in  three  of  her  fingers,  leaving  only  her  thumb 
and  forefinger  for  service.  But  she  was  intensely 
interested  in  what  she  was  about,  and  never  seemed 
to  lose  her  patience.  Presently  it  was  time  to  try 
on,  and  laying  down  her  work,  she  took  off  the 
apron  she  was  wearing  (it  required  much  skewing 
and  hitching  of  herself  to  get  at  the  buttons  behind), 
and  put  on  the  new  one  over  her  straight-waisted, 
plain-sleeved,  pink  gingham  dress.  The  effect  was 
disappointing.  "If  my  waist  would  only  slant  in 
just  a  little!'''  she  thought.  "And  if  mother  only 
wouldn't  tell  Miss  Stepson,  when  she  cuts  my 
dresses,  to  leave  room  for  me  to  grow!"  But 
Elizabeth's  waist  was  uncompromising;  her  form 
generally  was  like  a  pillow.  "  If  Rachel  has  some 
lace  to  give  me  to  sew  around  the  bib,  and  some 
ribbon  to  make  bows  for  the  pockets,  that  will  make 
it  prettier,"  she  thought. 

She  had  to  stand  on  her  chair  to  see  in  the  glass 
better.  In  the  midst  of  patting  the  folds  into  place 
she  was  attacked  by  a  day-dream.  "My  dear,"  she 
said,  addressing  one  of  the  Timberkins,  "I  shall 
wear  a  pink  velvet  drqss  with  a  long  train,  and  you 
must  put  on  your  white  satin,  Polly.  Dolly  and 
Adeline,"  indicating  the  two  Timberkins  opposite 
Polly,  "will  wear  blue  silk  dresses,  and  Amelia 
Agnes  Low  will  wear  purple  satin."  She  turned 
sideways  to  try  to  get  a  view  of  her  back  in  the 


16  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

mirror.  It  could  not  be  done.  "Oh  certainly !  "  she 
exclaimed,  smiling  loftily  upon  Agnes  Timberkin, 
who  had  made  an  imaginary  remark.  "They  are 
all  coming  to  the  ball,  and  they  will  see  that  you 
are  not  beneath  their  notice,  my  dears.  Do  not  be 
at  all  troubled  about  them,  and  be  sure,  when  you 
see  how  surprised  they  are  at  your  magnificent  ball- 
dresses,  to  tell  them  that  the  Queen  sent  them  to 
you.  Then  they  will  see  that  you  are  very  impor 
tant  ladies,  and  they  will  never  again  call  you  clumsy 
or  frightful."  The  Timberkins  here  held  quite  a 
conversation,  for  Elizabeth  laughed,  nodded  and 
made  various  gestures  to  them.  Presently  she  said 
severely,  "I  am  very  glad  you  did,  for  it  will  teach 
them  a  lesson !"  Then  she  made  another  effort  to 
see  her  back  in  the  glass.  While  she  was  working 
at  it,  she  remarked:  "We  must  be  sure  to  be 
dressed  early,  because  the  Queen  is  coming  to  tea. 
She  is  going  to  wear  her  best  crown  and  her  white 
gauze  dress  trimmed  with  diamond  fringe,  because 
she"- 

"  Betty,  I  say  !  "  her  brother  Richard  roared  in  at 
her.  She  gave  a  start  which  shook  her  off  her  chair 
and  made  her  stagger.  Her  visions  were  dispelled, 
and  Richard's  angry  little  face,  smeared  with  dirt 
and  perspiration,  was  squeezed  in  between  the  vine- 
branches  at  the  side  of  the  .arbor,  glaring  at  her. 
He  was  angry  because  he  had  something  intensely 
interesting  and  mysterious  to  tell  her  and  she  would 
not  hear  him.  The  success  of  having  frightened 
her  off  of  her  chair  appeased  him.  He  shouted 
with  laughter  and  ran  around  to  the  arbor  entrance. 


A  DOOR  ON  THE  LATCH.  17 

They  had  to  have  their  laugh  out  before  Richard 
could  speak.  But  what  he  had  to  communicate  was 
serious,  and  presently  he  arrived  at  it. 

"I  've  found  out  where  it  begins!  "  he  said,  look 
ing  about  to  make  sure  that  nobody  heard  but  Eliz 
abeth.  Her  day-dream  had  been  so  vivid  that  she 
was  slow  to  understand. 

"What?  "she  asked. 

"Hush!  I  know  it 's  a  secret;  whisper!  I've 
found  out  where  it  begins!  "  said  Richard. 

"What  begins?  "  asked  his  sister. 

"Come  closer!  Somebody  might  be  climbing  the 
fence  to  listen,"  he  whispered,  drawing  her  out  to 
the  path.  He  looked  about  in  every  direction  and 
then  said  mysteriously,  "The  Underground  Rail 
road!" 

"Oh,  Dick! "  said  Elizabeth,  as  if  it  was  a  great 
discovery.  "Where  is  it?  How  does  thee  know? 
I  don't  believe  thee  does." 

"Yes,  I  do!"  said  Dick,  wagging  his  head  and 
looking  as  wise  as  Solomon.  "Only  nobody  knows 
that  I  've  found  it  out,  and  I  won't  tell  —  I 
wouldn't  tell  a  slaveholder,  not  if  he  was  to  kill 
me!" 

"Of  course  not,  but  I  don't  believe  thee  knows 
really  and  truly,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"Yes,  I  do!"  said  Dick,  confidently.  "I  heard 
Mr.  Cumley  tell  father  that  a  'spress  train  was  going 
to  start  on  the  Underground  Railroad  right  from  this 
place  !  An'  after  they  'd  gone,  I  found  out  where 
they  meant.  /  knew  I  'd  find  out  sometime !  I  've 
been  just  watching  to  find  out  and  I  listened  with 


18  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

all  my  might  as  soon  as  father  an'  Mr.  Cumley 
began  to  talk  about  it.  Oh,  yes!  1  heard  'em! 
They  didn't  think  I  was  understanding  'em,  but  I 
was  !  Hm!  I  know  more  'n  they  think  I  do." 

"Dick,  I  believe  thee 's  just  making  up,"  said 
Elizabeth,  suddenly  incredulous.  "I  've  never  seen 
Mr.  Cumley,  and  thee  don't  know  even  what  he 
looks  like." 

"Yes,  I  do!"  said  Dick,  so  sure  of  his  ground 
that  he  raised  his  voice  louder  and  louder  while  he 
said,  "  His  hair  is  parted  in  the  middle  and  brushed 
flat  and  rounding  each  side  of  his  forehead,  and  then 
it 's  put  behind  his  ears,  and  the  rest  of  it  is  tight 
curls  down  to  here,"  touching  his  collar-bones. 
"They  bob  up  an'  down  when  he  walks,  an'  I  hate 
him!" 

"So  do  I,"  said  Elizabeth,  knowing  her  senti 
ments  at  once. 

"But  he  let  out  the  secret  that  time,"  said  Dick, 
"and,  if  thee  wants  to  see  where  the  Underground 
Railroad  is,  come  along  and  I  '11  show  thee.  Thee 
can't  see  from  here.  I  'm  glad  I  know  at  last." 

"So  am  I,"  said  Elizabeth,  looking  for  her  hat. 
"I've  asked  father  and  mother  and  sister  Rachel, 
often  and  often,  and  they  never  tell  me  so  I  can 
understand." 

"I  know  something  else  too,"  said  Dick.  "Har 
riet--  There!  Look,  Betty!  Did  thee  see  that?  " 
He  caught  her  dress  and  drew  her  back  behind  a 
lilac  bush,  peeping  around  it  as  if  afraid  somebody 
would  see  him. 

"See  what?  "  whispered  Betty. 


A  DOOR  ON  THE  LATCH.  19 

"Harriet!"  whispered  Dick,  peeping  around  the 
bush  again.  Betty  tried  to  see  too,  but  perceived 
nothing.  Dick  looked  up  at  her  with  big  eyes  and 
whispered,  with  his  forefinger  significantly  raised: 
"  She  's  going  to  take  the  train !  Sh-sh-sh !  Father 
told  Mr.  Cumley  he  'd  tell  her  to  get  ready.  An' 
I  saw  her  just  now  run  inside  of  the  hencoop  just 
as  fast  as  she  could  go !  It 's  there,  Betty,  —  I  saw 
it.  I  went  in  to  get  my  ball,  an'  I  saw  the  boards 
of  the  fence  loose,  an'  I  took  hold  of  one  an'  it  slid 
right  down,  an'  I  looked  behind  an'  it  was  like  a 
little,  dark,  crooked  entry  with  the  lumber  piled 
over  it !  You  could  crawl  along  just  as  easy  as 
anything  right  to  the  undergroun'  railroad  cars,  I 
know  you  could !  Come  look  in  the  coop  and  see ! 
There!  "  he  exclaimed  softly  as  a  shrill  engine-whis 
tle  sounded  from  Tenth  Avenue.  "Hear  that?" 
Betty  nodded.  "That  's  the  train  going,"  said 
Dick.  "Harriet  's  gone;  come  into  the  hencoop 
and  see  if  she  has  n't." 

They  took  hold  of  hands  and  trod  on  tiptoe,  as 
if  they  were  conspirators.  "I  saw  Harriet  rush 
in,"  said  Dick,  on  the  way;  "I  guess  she  was  afraid 
of  being  late  for  the  train.  But  she  was  n't  late ; 
for  I  've  been  looking  at  the  hencoop  ever  since,  an' 
she  has  n't  come  out  again." 

They  stood  at  the  coop  door  and  peered  inside 
with  their  big  eyes.  There  was  the  place  in  the 
fence,  with  two  boards  misplaced,  and  nothing  but 
darkness  in  the  opening.  "See?  She  ain't  here 
—  she's  gone  on  the  train!"  said  Dick,  gratified 
to  see  Betty  forced  into  conviction  of  the  undenia- 


20  BACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

ble  truth  of  his  statements.  The  coop  was  a  very 
large  one,  covered  with  heavy  grapevines  which 
cast  their  shadows  over  the  hole  in  the  fence  and 
gave  it  additional  mystery  in  the  eyes  of  the  chil 
dren.  They  carried  their  inspection  a  little  further, 
peeped  through  the  opening,  were  satisfied  that  it 
led  to  a  part,  certainly,  of  the  underground  rail 
road,  and  then  returned  to  the  arbor  to  play.  They 
had  scarcely  done  so  when  Mrs.  Stanwood  came 
rapidly  from  the  kitchen,  down  the  path,  went  into 
the  coop  and  replaced  the  fallen  boards.  Without 
pausing  an  instant,  she  then  went  to  the  end  of 
the  garden,  undid  the  fastenings  of  the  door  in  the 
fence  there,  opened  it  and  looked  up  and  down  the 
rear  street  once  or  twice,  closed  without  fastening 
it,  and  went  quickly  to  the  vegetable-bed,  where  she 
began  to  pick  some  tomatoes,  with  deliberation 
which  seemed  inconsistent  with  her  quick  move 
ments  up  to  that  minute.  She  glanced  once  or 
twice  up  at  the  parlor  windows,  with  an  anxious  ex 
pression.  Her  mind  was  evidently  not  at  all  on 
the  tomatoes.  Half  of  those  she  gathered  were  un 
ripe,  and  she  carried  them  into  the  house  in  her 
apron,  a  thing  the  children  had  never  seen  her  do 
before.  She  hesitated  as  she  passed  the  arbor,  as 
if  the  sight  of  the  children  suggested  something  to 
her,  but  immediately  seemed  to  set  the  thought 
aside.  "Having  a  nice  play?"  she  asked,  but  did 
not  wait  for  their  answer.  She  went  into  the 
kitchen  and  at  once  stepped  to  the  side  of  a  colored 
woman  who  was  nervously  washing  some  dishes  at 
the  sink. 


A  DOOR  ON  THE  LATCH.  21 

"Now,  Peggy,"  she  whispered,  "if  thee  shut  thy 
eyes  when  I  told  thee  to,  thee  did  not  see  which 
way  Harriet  went  and  thee  does  not  know  where  she 
is.'"' 

"No,  miss;  don't  be  'feerd.  I  ain't  gwine  to 
know  nothin'.  Mebby  she  went  out  froo  de  front 
basement,"  Peggy  said,  clattering  the  dishes  more 
than  was  necessary.  "But  ef  dey  doan  see  me 
shake,  it  '11  be  de  wuk  o'  de  Lawd,  dat  't  will!  " 

"Here,"  said  Mrs.  Stan  wood,  coming  from  the 
closet  with  a  wooden  bowl  and  chopper.  "Thee  can 
shake  all  thee  wants  to  at  this  work ;  I  '11  do  the 
dishes."  She  emptied  the  tomatoes  into  the  bowl 
and  directed  Peggy  to  sit  down  and  chop  them  up. 

There  was  the  tread  of  feet  in  the  parlor,  over 
head,  and  the  sound  of  men's  voices  talking  loud. 
Eachel,  with  her  light  step,  appeared  at  the  kitchen 
door,  had  a  whispered  consultation  with  her  mother, 
and  went  upstairs  again.  Mrs.  Stan  wood  looked 
out  into  the  garden  in  the  direction  where  the  chil 
dren  were  playing.  She  shaded  her  eyes  with  her 
hand  and  peered,  this  way  and  that,  under  and 
around  the  vines  and  bushes.  "They  could  not 
possibly  have  seen  anything  from  there,"  she  said 
to  herself  and  went  to  washing  the  dishes. 

Mr.  Stanwood  and  Mr.  Cumley  had  not,  as  little 
Dick  supposed,  left  the  house.  Mr.  Cumley  came 
now  down  the  piazza  steps  and  around  to  the  kitchen 
window,  where  he,  too,  had  a  whispered  talk  with 
Mrs.  Stanwood,  after  which  he  went  down  the  path. 
He  passed  the  children  at  their  play  and  stopped  to 
speak  to  them.  Then  he  went  to  the  end  of  the 


22  EACHEL  STANWOOD. 

path  and  out  of  the  door  in  the  fence  which  Mrs. 
Stan  wood  had  unfastened.  After  he  left  them,  the 
children  looked  at  each  other. 

"He  '11  be  too  late,"  said  Dick. 

"I  guess  he '11  take  another  train  and  meet  her 
where  she  gets  off,"  said  Betty.  Dick  assented  to 
the  probability,  and  tucking  the  four  Timberkins 
under  their  arms,  they  went  behind  the  bushes. 

When  Kachel  left  the  kitchen  she  went  up  to  the 
parlor,  where  her  father  was  having  a  controversy 
with  a  tall,  large-faced  Southerner  and  a  constable. 

When  Rachel  entered,  the  Southerner  was  say 
ing  angrily:  "I  have  a  warrant  to  search  your 
house,  sir,  and  shall  proceed  at  once  to  do  so,  if 
you  do  not  deliver  up  my  slaves,  Harriet  Wilson, 
Havilah  and  Diana  Moore." 

"Let  him  search,  father;  he  can  begin  in  the 
attic,"  said  Rachel. 

The  Southerner  looked  at  her  contemptuously  and 
said:  "Your  invitation  is  too  cordial,  madam.  My 
slave  is  evidently  not  in  the  attic,  and  you  wish 
only  to  deceive  me." 

"Address  thy  remarks  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Stan- 
wood,  severely.  "Thy  warrant  permits  thee  to 
search  my  house,  but  not  to  converse  with  any 
member  of  my  family.  Offer  the  slightest  disre 
spect  to  any  one  of  them  and  I  order  thee  to  leave 
the  premises." 

"  By  -  The    Southerner   began  an   oath, 

but  the  constable  interfered. 

"Let  your  feelings  simmer  on  the  back  of  the 
stove ;  you  '11  miss  what  you  're  after  if  you  boil 


A  DOOR  ON  THE  LATCH.  23 

over!"  he  said.  "Take  the  lady  at  her  word  and 
begin  upstairs." 

But  the  Southerner  demurred.  After  a  little  al 
tercation  he  said  insolently,  that,  inasmuch  as  per 
mission  to  search  the  attic  had  been  volunteered  so 
freely,  he  would  prefer  to  have  the  basement  floor 
inspected  first. 

Entering  the  kitchen  they  found  Peggy  chopping 
the  tomatoes  and  Mrs.  Stanwood  putting  the  dishes 
away  in  the  dresser. 

"Mother,"  said  Mr.  Stanwood,  "these  men  have 
a  warrant  to  search  the  premises  for  three  people 
whom  one  of  them,  Mr.  Suydan,  I  believe,  claims  as 
his  property:  has  thee  any  objection?  " 

"None  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Stanwood,  with  quiet 
deliberation,  selecting  a  pile  of  saucers  and  fitting 
them  with  precision  into  a  particular  corner  of  the 
shelf.  She  deliberated  too  long  and  kept  them 
waiting  until  the  Southerner  was  irritated. 

"We  have  no  time  to  waste,  madam,  and  must 
proceed  at  once,"  he  said,  trying  a  closet  door  and 
finding  it  locked. 

"Wait  a  moment,  friend,  if  thee  pleases,"  she 
said,  looking  over  her  shoulder  at  him.  "I  am 
busy  here  and  cannot  be  interfered  with.  The 
upper  part  of  the  house  is  open  to  thee,  and  thee  can 
postpone  this  part  until  I  am  ready  for  thee.  The 
keys  are  in  my  pocket,  and  thee  cannot  look  far 
without  them." 

"Take  your  time,  ma'am.  The  gentleman  can 
wait,"  said  the  constable,  whose  sympathy  was  drift 
ing  toward  the  occupants  of  the  house. 


24  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

"I  cannot  wait,  and  your  remarks  are  not  called 
for,  sir,"  said  the  Southerner,  testily. 

"All  right,  sir!  I'm  willing  to  waste  all  the 
time  you  are,"  said  the  constable,  and  he  looked  on 
in  amused  silence  all  the  while  Mrs.  Stanwood  was 
fitting  her  keys  into  several  doors,  unlocking  each 
in  turn,  and  waiting  with  aggravating  precision  to 
fasten  it  again,  after  the  Southerner  had  made  his 
inspection.  After  a  quarter  of  an  hour  spent  in 
this  way,  Mr.  Suydan  said,  impatiently  turning  to 
Mrs.  Stanwood:  "Perhaps,  madam,  you  are  willing 
to  affirm  that  nobody  is  concealed  on  these  prem 
ises?" 

"Does  thy  warrant  require  me  to  affirm?"  she 
asked  him,  quietly. 

"It  gives  me  power  to  search  the  house,  madam, 
from  ground  to  roof,  and  it  may  save  you  trouble  to 
answer  a  question  or  two.  Here  —  you!  "  he  cried, 
losing  temper  and  turning  to  Peggy :  "  How  many 
more  niggers  are  there  here,  besides  yourself?  If 
my  niggers  were  n't  hidden  yer  somewhere  you  'd  be 

ready  enough  to  say  so,  any  one  of  you,  and  by 

I  '11  have  every  corner  of  the  place  ransacked!  " 

"I  ain't  afeerd!  "  said  Peggy.  "7" ain't  seen  no- 
Vdy  !  "  and  she  chopped  furiously  at  the  tomatoes. 

"We'll  examine  the  yard!"  said  Mr.  Suydan, 
peremptorily.  He  strode  into  the  garden,  command 
ing  the  constable  to  follow  and  perform  his  duty. 
The  constable  went,  protesting,  "It 's  all  a  clean 
waste  of  time,  mister;  what  you  're  looking  for  ain't 
here."  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stanwood  and  Rachel  followed 
the  men  in  their  inspection  of  the  garden,  Rachel 


A  DOOR  ON  THE  LATCH.  25 

going  at  once  to  find  the  children.  They  had  left 
the  arbor  and  were  discovered  first  by  Mr.  Suydan, 
whose  eyes  had  soon  lighted  upon  the  hencoop  as 
a  likely  place  to  look  into.  Elizabeth  and  Rich 
ard  were  inside  of  it,  sitting  on  an  overturned  box, 
plump  up  against  the  loose  boards,  two  of  the  Tim- 
berkins  in  the  arms  of  each.  They  looked  excited, 
but  amused  rather  than  alarmed. 

"This  is  my  children's  playhouse;  they  are  not  to 
be  disturbed  in  it,"  said  Mr.  Stan  wood. 

"You  can  both  see  all  there  is  to  see  from  here," 
his  wife  said,  at  the  door.  Mr.  Suydan  had  entered 
the  coop.  Rachel,  white  and  trembling,  stood  close 
to  her  mother.  Both  of  them  were  breathless  in  sus 
pense.  If  the  children  innocently  should  remain 
where  they  were,  the  search  might  be  diverted  from 
that  place.  Elizabeth  and  Richard  did  not  budge. 

"Is  anybody  hiding  here?"  demanded  Mr.  Suy 
dan  of  them.  "I  am  looking  for  three  niggers  who 
have  run  away  from  me,  children  —  two  women  and 
a  little  girl  —  have  you  seen  them?  " 

There  was  an  instant  of  silence.  Out  of  their 
innocence  the  children  might  help  the  fugitive. 
"Hush  —  let  them  answer,"  said  Mrs.  Stanwood. 
Mr.  Suydan  had  repeated  his  question. 

"It 's  swearing  to  say  '  nigger!  '  "  said  Richard, 
red  in  the  face.  The  constable  roared. 

"  You  can  tell  the  gentleman  if  you  have  seen  two 
colored  women,  beside  Aunt  Peggy,  with  a  little 
girl,"  said  Mrs.  Stanwood,  smiling  at  the  children, 
reassuringly. 

"No,  but  we  would  n't  tell  anybody,  if  we  had," 


26  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

said  Kichard,  looking  full  into  the  face  of  Mr.  Suy- 
dan. 

Mr.  Stanwood  beamed,  and  exclaimed,  behind  his 
wife:  "You  are  answered,  sir,  and  can  pursue  your 
investigations  elsewhere;  my  children  have  nothing 
more  to  say  to  you." 

"But  there  's  something  to  tell  thee,  father,  wait  !  " 
cried  Dick,  and  planting  his  Timberkins  011  his  seat, 
he  followed  Mr.  Suydan  out  of  the  coop,  and  stand 
ing  before  his  father  said  he  wanted  to  whisper. 
Mr.  Stanwood  went  aside  with  him  and  bent  down 
to  hear.  "Mr.  Cumley  told  us  to  tell  thee  he  was 
going  to  meet  Harriet  at  the  station  an'  take  her 
right  along  on  the  underground  railroad.  He  went 
roun'  that  way,"  Dick  pointed  to  the  door  in  the 
fence,  "an'  he  was  too  late  to  go  in  the  same  train 
Harriet  went  on.  Betty  an'  me  heard  that  train  go 
off,  but  Betty  says  Mr.  Cumley  was  going  to  meet 
her  where  she  got  off  the  cars." 

Mr,  Stanwood  laughed  aloud  and  put  his  hand 
on  Dick's  upturned  forehead.  Dick's  face  was  all 
puckered  with  the  seriousness  of  the  message.  Mr. 
Suydan  was  expressing  his  annoyance. 

"I  am  convinced  that  my  slaves  are  on  your 
premises,  sir,"  he  said,  "and  I  will  have  them.  I 
will  have  you  summoned  to  appear  in  court,  sir, 
and  I  will "- 

"  It  is  unnecessary  to  threaten ;  neither  thy  threats 
nor  thy  anger  disturb  us,"  said  Mr.  Stanwood,  his 
face  so  cleared  of  anxiety  that  his  wife's  and  daugh 
ter's  also  wore  relieved  expressions.  "I  am  not  re 
quired  to  give  thee  any  information  concerning  the 


A  DOOR  ON  THE  LATCH.  27 

people  whom  thee  calls  thy  slaves,  but,  if  thee  would 
like  to  hear  a  message  I  have  just  received  about  one 
of  them,  I  will  ask  my  son  to  repeat  it." 

Dick  thought  his  father  most  unwise  to  allow 
Harriet's  master  to  know  so  much  about  her,  but 
he  repeated  the  message  when  he  was  told  to.  The 
constable  roared  again  with  laughter.  Mr.  Suydan 
was  enraged  and  began  to  use  rough  language. 
The  constable  interrupted  him :  — 

"You're  wasting  every  minute  you  spend  here, 
Mr.  Suydan,"  he  said.  He  was  not  over  anxious 
to  have  the  slaves  escape,  but  his  duty  was  disagree 
able  to  him.  He  was  irritated,  too,  at  the  South 
erner's  blundering  way  of  going  at  the  business.  It 
was  easy  for  him  to  perceive  that,  whereas  in  the 
beginning  Mr.  Stanwood  had  been  anxious  to  avoid 
the  carrying  into  execution  of  the  warrant,  he  was 
now  not  only  willing  to  allow  the  search  but  would 
like  as  much  time  as  possible  spent  in  the  opera 
tion.  The  constable  had  hinted  several  times  that 
they  were  wasting  time,  but  Mr.  Suydan  had  not 
heeded  him,  and  was  angry  now  because  he  laughed 
at  Dick.  He  turned  upon  him,  and  said,  with  a 
sneer :  "  Perhaps  you  know  what  that  gibberish 
means  and  where  to  find  this  station  of  the  under 
ground  railroad!  For  all  I  know,  you  and  the 
d d  Quakers  are  in  the  plot  together." 

The  constable  lost  patience  and  answered,  - 

"No,  sir,  I  don't  know,  but  if  you  wish  to  stay 
here  and  find  out,  while  your  property  is  making 
tracks  for  Canada,  /'ve  no  objection,  an'  may  be 
the  gentleman  here  and  his  little  boy  '11  help  you ! " 


28  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

"Certainly!"  said  Mr.  Stan  wood,  with  anima 
tion,  rubbing  his  hands  caressingly  over  Dick's 
shoulders.  "My  son  will  tell  you  all  he  knows 
about  the  underground  railroad,  won't  thee,  Dick?  " 

But  Dick  backed  into  his  father  and  cried  an 
grily,  "No!  I  '11  never  tell  him,  — never  in  all  my 
life,  an'  he  needn't  ask  me! " 

"Are  you  satisfied  with  your  inspection  of  the 
garden,  and  will  you  proceed  with  the  search  in 
doors,  gentlemen?"  Mr.  Stanwood  asked.  There 
had  been  enough  of  his  boy  in  the  conversation,  and 
he  was  ready  for  a  diversion. 

"There  ain't  a  bit  of  use  in  it,  I  tell  you,  sir!" 
the  constable  said,  in  an  undertone  to  the  South 
erner,  who  turned  to  him. 

"We  will  call  again,  or  you  will  hear  from  me  in 
a  way  you  don't  expect!  "  Mr.  Suydan  said  to  Mr. 
Stanwood,  as  that  gentleman  opened  the  front  door 
to  let  them  out. 

"I  believe  the  whole  business  was  a  put-up  job," 
Mr.  Suydan  growled,  as  they  walked  away.  "What 
makes  you  so  sure  that  the  niggers  aren't  there?" 

"Because  I  'm  not  a  jackass!  "  the  constable  an 
swered,  with  a  strong  temptation  to  emphasize  the 
pronoun.  "Because  it  was  as  plain  as  daylight," 
he  said  aloud,  "that  the  more  time  you  spent  in  the 
house,  the  better  you  'd  please  the  parties  in  it,  an' 
the  more  time  you  'd  give  the  person  who  gave  the 
child  that  message  to  get  off  with  one  of  your  nig 
gers  and  hide  her  in  a  new  place.  I  saw,  the  min 
ute  that  pretty  young  woman  put  in  her  oar  and 
invited  us  to  search  the  attic,  that  the  game  was  up 


A  DOOR  OX  THE  LATCH.  29 

there.  An'  then  what  the  boy  said  showed  as  plain 
as  day  that  the  only  one  of  the  niggers  they  'd  had, 
had  been  sneaked  off,  —  while  you  were  talking, 
most  likely." 

"Why  the  devil  couldn't  yo'  say  so,  and  show 
them  up  then  and  there?"  asked  Mr.  Suydan  in 
wrath. 

"Begging  your  pardon,  sir,  I  tried  to  get  you  to 
give  up  and  come  away,  but  you  wouldn't,"  replied 
the  constable. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  yo'  don't  believe  those 
people  know  where  rny  slaves  are? "asked  Mr.  Suy 
dan. 

"They  're  too  smart  to  know,"  said  the  constable. 
"I  tell  you,  sir,  there  ain't  a  lawyer  in  the  country 
that  can  come  up  with  one  of  those  regular  nigger 
abolitionists.  Take  any  one  of  'em  and  he  'd  put 
you  off  the  scent  just  when  you  thought  you  had  him 
sure  !  Get  him  in  a  tight  corner, —  and  I  tell  you, 
sir,  it  takes  the  judge  and  jury  all  together  to  get 
him  there,  — an'  I  '11  just  show  you  what  I  've  seen 
'em  do.  There  they  are  in  court,  with  the  lawyers 
piling  questions  on  'em,  an'  knowing  they  won't  lie. 
They  know  that,  and  they  can't  catch  'em,  with 
all  their  cross-questioning.  The  abolitionists  have 
got  more  ways  of  getting  out  of  the  way  of  the  law 
than  the  lawyers  have  of  getting  into  it!  I  've  seen 
'em  leave  the  whole  court  more  uncertain  where  to 
look  for  a  nigger  than  they  were  before  they  began. 
And  yet  every  fool  knows  that,  if  they  want  to, 
they  can  get  at  a  runaway  nigger  as  straight  as  a 
shot  aimed  right  at  a  mark.  Take  that  Mr.  Stan- 


30  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

wood,  for  instance.  When  we  went  into  his  house, 
likely  your  niggers  —  some  of  'em,  or  all  of  'em  — • 
were  there,  hid  downstairs.  But  that  fellow  the  boy 
gave  the  message  from  was  there,  too,  don't  you 
see?  We  go  in,  and  he  goes  out  a  back  way,  with 
the  niggers.  Or  else,  may  be  the  niggers  were  n't 
there,  nor  haven't  been  there,  nor  aren't  going  to 
be  there, — do  you  suppose  Mr.  Stanwood  is  goin' 
to  let  us  find  that  out?  No,  sir!  I've  been  em 
ployed  on  this  kind  of  business  a  good  many  times, 
and  I  know  a  good  many  of  the  ways  of  abolitionists. 
He  'd  keep  you  on  the  scent  round  his  house  just  as 
long  as  you  'd  stand"  it.  He  'd  do  it  to  keep  you 
away  from  some  other  house,  if  he  had  n't  any  other 
reason.  I  tell  you,  sir,  the  abolitionists  are  the 
greatest  secret  society  ever  invented.  Their  se 
crets  '11  never  be  found  out,  either,  and  —  by  thun 
der  !  —  even  their  very  babies  are  in  'em !  " 

While  they  continued  their  conversation,  Mr. 
Stanwood,  upstairs,  was  coaxing  out  of  Elizabeth 
and  little  Dick  all  that  they  knew  about  the  under 
ground  railroad. 

It  might  not  have  been  in  strict  accordance  with 
the  principles  of  Quakerism,  but  he  certainly  al 
lowed  some  most  astonishing  statements  to  pass 
without  correction,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  say 
to  the  children  that,  whether  he  agreed  with  them 
or  not,  their  theories  were  "harmless  and  very  safe." 

The  boards  in  the  fence  under  the  hencoop  were 
again  displaced  in  a  little  while,  and  a  very  dark 
negro  girl  of  about  eighteen  crawled  through  the 


A  DOOR   ON   THE  LATCH.  31 

opening  and  darted  under  the  grapevines  into  the 
kitchen.  Mrs.  Stanwood  was  dismayed.  Peggy 
gave  a  yelp. 

"Why,  Harriet!"  Mrs.  Stanwood  exclaimed. 
"A  gentleman  went  to  meet  thee,  and  " 

"Ya-as  'm!  "  said  Harriet,  laughing  to  hurt  her 
self,  and  showing  very  white  teeth.  "He  was  thar, 
missus.  We  was  listenin'  at  de  crack  in  de  fence, 
an'  ef  de  chillun  had  'a'  run,  we  'd  'a'  cut.  But 
we  heerd  'em  talkin',  — an'  — he!  he!  "  The  girl 
doubled  herself  up  with  laughter.  When  she  could 
again  speak,  she  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  apron, 
and  said,  punctuating  her  words  with  chuckles, 
"  Massa  Dick,  he  say  to  Miss  Betty,  'We  '11  set 
yer,  right  at  de  do'  ob  de  unnergroun'  railroad, 
an'  ef  anybody  comes  'long,  we  won't  let  'em  git 
past. ' '  Harriet  went  off  in  another  gale,  and, 
when  it  was  over,  said,  "Massa  S'dan,  he  ken  try 
his  bes',  he  ain't  no  match  fo'  li'll  Massa  Dick! 
B'lieve  Mass'  Dick  'd  heabe  de  hull  Timberkins  at 
'im  fo'  he  'd  'a'  let  'im  in  at  dat  tunnle  do' !  So 
de  chillun  dey  stuck  dah,  an'  de  gentle'm  w'at  was 
takin'  change  o'  me,  he  says  I  bes'  come  back,  coze 
de  him  tin'  party  's  off  de  track!  " 

"Well!  "  Mrs.  Stanwood  exclaimed  over  and  over 
again,  and  seemed  unable  to  say  anything  more. 

" Ya-as 'm!"  said  Harriet  again,  swinging  her 
arms,  and  in  high  glee.  "Dat  's  w'at  he  said,  when 
I  tole  'im  I  wan't  a-gwine  to  quit  yer.  It 's  de 
safes'  place  now,  missus!  Dat  ole  Massa  Lock'd 
S'dan  ain't  a-gwine  to  cotch  me!  Dat  gentlem' 
wid  de  style,"  she  pointed  to  her  own  hair  signifi- 


32  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

cantly,  "he's  spen'in'  his  time  now  walkin'  roun' 
de  house,  an'  ef  Massa  S'dan  'pears  to  want  to  call 
agin  on  Miss  Hawyet  Wilson,  he  's  gwine  to  come 
roun'  froo  de  back  gate  an'  take  me  clean  off  in  a 
'spectable  way.  I  'm  gwine  to  git  my  bunnit  an' 
shawl  an'  hab  'em  handy.  So,  Miss  Peggy,  ef  yo' 
yers  de  do 'bell  ring,  keep  'em  waitin'  twell  I  gets 
into  de  tunn'l,  —  yo'  yer  dat?  But  I  ain't  afeerd 
of  his  comin' !  He  's  had  'nough  o'  dis  place  an' 
he  ain't  a-gwine  to  call  agin.  Law  suz!  Don't  you 
be  afeerd  for  me,  missus !  /  ain't  a-gwine  Souf  for 
my  weddin'  trip! " 


CHAPTER   II. 

FRIENDS   AND    FRIENDS. 

THE  Desborough  family  were  conventional. 
They  might  be  called  conventionally  correct  in  all 
their  ways.  They  had  plenty  of  money  and  lived 
in  Fourteenth  Street,  near  Union  Square,  where 
they  felt  their  surroundings  to  be  aristocratic.  All 
the  furnishings  and  appointments  of  the  house,  its 
service,  and  customs,  were  elegant  and  proper. 
The  coachman  and  footman  wore  quiet  liveries,  the 
coat  of  arms  on  the  carriages  and  harness  were  in 
conspicuous.  It  was  carefully  painted  or  attached 
wherever  coats  of  arms  ought  to  be,  but  never  ob 
trusive.  The  family  pedigree  was  most  important ; 
Mrs.  Desborough  especially  enjoyed  it,  and  guarded 
it,  but  she  made  an  effort  not  to  obtrude  it.  Some 
times  a  quiet  assertion  of  it  was  necessary,  but  it 
must  be  made  in  good  taste.  Everything  in  the 
Desborough  family  must  be  done  in  good  taste. 
There  was  never  an  occasion  known  when  Mrs. 
Desborough  and  her  daughter  Grace,  who  was  nine 
teen,  and  Eloise,  who  was  only  eleven,  were  not 
dressed  in  the  best  of  taste,  and  in  what  was  exactly 
suitable.  It  worried  Mrs.  Desborough  because 
Grace  showed  so  little  interest  in  her  apparel,  but 
she  was  entirely  tractable  and  wore  contentedly 


34  EACH  EL  STAN  WOOD. 

whatever  her  mother  provided,  and  that  was  a  com 
fort.  Mrs.  Desborough  was  a  nervous,  thin,  wiry 
little  lady  of  forty-three,  with  a  pale  face,  brown 
eyes,  and  a  chin  which  punctuated  her  feelings  in 
an  upward  hitch  when  she  was  excited.  Her  hair 
was  light  brown  and  always  handsomely  dressed  in 
a  French  twist,  which  gave  her  an  air  of  distinc 
tion.  She  had  a  restless  way  of  using  her  hands, 
and  wore  few  rings,  but  the  jewels  in  them  were 
superb.  Her  husband  was  forty-eight,  rather  tall, 
with  a  large  frame,  which  could  be  stately  to  a  de 
gree,  but  when  off  guard  bent  itself  to  a  kindly 
level  with  genial,  good-natured  people.  He  had 
thin,  dark  hair,  was  bald  on  the  crown,  and  wore 
whiskers,  but  no  mustache,  —  a  fortunate  custom, 
because  his  mouth  was  decidedly  his  best  feature. 
His  son  Horace  was  a  handsome  likeness  of  him,  a 
little  overtopping  him  in  height,  erect,  with  a  touch 
of  haughtiness  in  his  bearing.  His  hair  was  light, 
curling  in  loose  rings  about  his  broad  forehead,  his 
eyes  dark,  like  his  mother's.  Sitting  at  the  end  of 
the  family  pew  in  a  not  too  fashionable  Episcopal 
church,  Mr.  Desborough  looked  satisfied,  perhaps 
with  his  family  rather  than  with  other  things,  but 
only  a  keen  observer  would  take  note  of  the  fact  in 
his  contented  glances  along  the  line,  from  his  son 
next  to  him,  to  his  wife  at  the  further  end.  To 
Mrs.  Desborough  the  pew  was  an  intense  satisfac 
tion.  Her  seat  in  it  was  to  her  a  sort  of  society 
throne ;  when  she  entered  the  pew  and  settled  her 
self,  after  her  short,  silent  prayer,  she  had  an  unde- 
finable  sensation  of  settling  into  her  secure  and  most 


FRIENDS  AND  FRIENDS.  35 

satisfactory  position  in  society.  When  the  pew 
was  full,  with  Horace  and  his  father  in  their  seats, 
Mrs.  Desborough's  face  was  more  near  to  looking 
placid  than  at  any  other  time,  but  this  supreme 
hour  came  only  occasionally,  for  the  gentlemen  of 
the  family  attended  church  irregularly,  and  Eloise 
was  an  adept  at  getting  up  excuses  for  staying  at 
home.  Grace  was  the  most  regular  of  any  of  the 
family  in  her  attendance  at  church.  She  loved  the 
pew  because  she  was  devout  and  gave  much  thought 
and  care  to  her  soul,  perhaps  because  it  was  so  white 
and  spotless  that  it  could  have  done  better  than  most 
souls  if  left  alone. 

Nervous  headaches  often  interfered  with  Mrs. 
Desborough's  attendance  at  church.  She  had  suf 
fered  recently  from  an  unusual  number  of  them, 
owing  to  a  long-continued  effort  on  her  part  to  solve 
a  difficult  social  problem.  The  problem  was  how  to 
protect  her  family  from  too  great  an  intimacy  with 
the  Stanwoods.  Rachel  Stanwood  and  Grace  Des- 
borough  had  met  at  a  French  class  to  which  they 
both  belonged,  and  their  acquaintance  was  ripening 
into  friendship  at  full  speed.  Also  Eloise  Des- 
borough  and  Elizabeth  Stanwood  attended  the  same 
school,  and  had  more  to  do  with  each  other  than 
Mrs.  Desborough  wished.  She  was  less  troubled 
about  the  latter  intimacy,  because  of  what  she  called 
the  strength  of  Eloise 's  character.  Perhaps  the 
Stanwoods  and  some  others  might  have  associated 
the  strength  with  certain  qualities  of  worldliness 
which  were  prominent  in  the  disposition  of  the 
youthful  Eloise,  but  her  mother  regarded  it  as  a 


36  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

shield  to  protect  its  possessor  from  contamination. 
Traced  to  the  foundation,  the  contamination  feared 
by  Mrs.  Desborough,  and  also  by  her  husband  and 
son,  was  that  arising  from  abolitionism.  That,  to 
their  minds,  meant  fanaticism,  rebellion,  anarchy, 
and  what  placed  its  followers  under  the  ban  of  so 
ciety.  In  the  first  days  of  the  children's  acquain 
tance,  Eloise  reported  a  conversation  at  recess  be 
tween  the  members  of  her  class  as  to  the  forms  of 
religious  worship  represented  among  them.  "What 
are  you?"  had  gone  the  rounds,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  and  had  been  answered  in  the  usual  way  by 
the  children:  "I'm  Episcopal;"  "I  'm  Presbyter 
ian;"  "I'm  High  Church;"  "I 'm  Low  Church," 
etc.,  until  it  reached  Elizabeth,  and  she  had  an 
swered,  "I  'm  an  Abolitionist."  "And  then, 
mamma,  none  of  the  girls  would  speak  to  her,  and 
she  had  to  eat  her  lunch  all  alone,"  Eloise  said. 

"Grace!  "  Mrs.  Desborough  had  afterwards  said, 
in  a  tone  of  consternation,  "Eloise  says  those  Stan- 
woods  are  abolitionists!'''  and  Grace  had  disap 
pointed  her  mother  by  saying,  "I  know  they  are, 
mamma,  and  they  are  lovely  people.  You  ought  to 
know  Rachel!  " 

But  there  was  just  the  rub,  —  Mrs.  Desborough 
did  not  want  to  know  Rachel,  or  to  have  Grace 
know  her,  or  to  have  Eloise  know  Elizabeth.  "We 
don't  icant  to  know  such  people,"  she  said. 

It  was  not  that  the  Desboroughs  were  supporters 
of  slavery ;  they  looked  upon  the  institution  as  an 
evil,  and  wished  that  it  did  not  exist,  but  to  resist 
it  was  to  place  themselves  in  antagonism  to  a  peace- 


FRIENDS  AND  FRIENDS.  37 

ful  state  of  things;  to  join  a  class  of  people  who 
were  obnoxious,  and  to  become  obnoxious  them 
selves  to  the  society  of  which  they  were  a  part. 
However  dreadful  the  system  of  slavery  might  be, 
it  was  not  their  —  the  Desboroughs' — business  to 
try  to  uproot  it.  There  was  every  reason  against 
their  cultivation  of  intimacies  or  placing  themselves 
in  surroundings  which  might  in  any  way  identify 
them  with  the  movement  to  abolish  it.  Mr.  Des- 
borough  was  the  senior  partner  of  the  distinguished 
firm  of  lawyers,  Desborough  and  Bristol,  and  it 
would  be  derogatory  to  his  reputation  in  business 
circles  to  be  connected,  excepting  in  a  distant  way, 
with  so  unpopular  a  cause  as  that  of  abolitionism. 
Horace  Desborough  had  been  a  member  of  the  bar 
for  only  a  year,  and  Messrs.  Graythorn  and  Ben- 
derly,  the  prominent  firm  to  which  he  had  been  ad 
mitted,  were  openly  and  bitterly  pro-slavery  in  their 
sentiments. 

On  every  account,  therefore,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Des 
borough  regretted  the  acquaintance  of  their  daugh 
ters  with  the  Stanwoods,  and  wished  to  clog  the 
wheels  which  were  driving  them  toward  a  closer  re 
lation.  But  there  was  a  serious  difficulty  in  their 
way,  and  that  was  in  the  popularity  of  Rachel 
Stan  wood.  The  French  class  which  she  had  been 
invited  to  join  (imprudently  invited,  Mrs.  Desbor 
ough  and  most  of  the  mothers  thought),  was  a  most 
select  one,  the  members  of  it,  with  the  exception  of 
Miss  Stanwood,  belonging  to  families  of  wealth  and 
high  position.  And  yet,  of  all  the  class,  Rachel 
Stanwood,  its  one  black  sheep,  was  the  most  popu- 


38  EACHEL  STANWOOD. 

lar  and  influential  member !  The  others  began  by 
placing  her  upon  a  formal  footing,  but,  when  she 
was  discovered  to  be  more  proficient  than  they  were, 
when  it  proved  to  be  she  who  waked  up  an  interest 
in  the  conversations  and  created  all  the  enthusiasm 
there  was,  what  could  the  class  do?  After  the  les 
son  was  over,  it  became  entertaining  to  converse  in 
English  with  Miss  Stanwood.  She  always  had  an 
idea  to  give  where  one  was  wanted,  whether  it  was 
a  suggestion  of  something  new  to  make  for  a  fair, 
an  inspiring  book  to  read,  the  deeper  beauty  of  an 
old  piece  of  music  to  pit  against  the  weakness  of 
something  modern,  or  the  like.  Grace  Desbor- 
ough's  passionless  blue  eyes  deepened,  and  peach- 
bloom  came  into  her  cheeks  as  she  listened  to  Ra 
chel,  and  by  and  by,  as  the  acquaintance  grew,  as 
calls  began  to  be  interchanged,  and  she  saw  Rachel 
in  her  own  home,  she  caught  glimpses  of  a  life  that 
meant  purpose.  In  Grace's  bosom  there  kindled  a 
little  fire  which  had  never  been  lighted  before,  and 
by  the  time  her  mother  perceived  and  wanted  to 
quench  it,  it  was  too  late. 

It  was  the  latter  part  of  October,  and,  after  much 
debate,  the  family  had,  as  a  concession  to  Grace, 
crossed  their  small  social  channel  and  accepted  an 
invitation  to  a  party  at  the  Stan  woods'.  Mr.  Des- 
borough  had  yielded  because  the  thing  most  difficult 
for  him  to  do  was  to  resist  his  daughter  Grace. 
She  was  so  gentle  and  yielding,  so  rarely  expressed 
a  wish  which  pertained  to  her  own  individual  plea 
sure,  was  invariably  so  ready  to  lose  her  own  desires 
in  those  of  others,  that  her  father  longed  to  gratify 


FRIENDS  AND  FRIENDS.  39 

her.  When  she  made  her  feeble  point  of  asking 
him  and  her  mother  to  accept  this  invitation,  there 
had  been  in  her  face  a  plea  for  her  friend  which 
touched  her  father's  heart  in  its  most  vulnerable 
place,  and  he  had  promised  to  go  with  her  to  the 
Stan  woods'.  He  conferred  with  his  wife  and  Hor 
ace,  announced  that  Grace  did  not  often  make  a  re 
quest,  and  that  it  was  only  fair  to  gratify  her.  He 
said  they  could  avoid  conversation  upon  dangerous 
topics,  and  could  maintain  formal  relations  with  the 
Stanwoods  as  easily  if  they  went  as  if  they  stayed 
away.  His  wife  yielded  because  she  learned  through 
Horace  that  the  Riverstons  were  going.  They  were 
one  of  the  oldest  and  most  aristocratic  of  New  York 
families,  and  had  a  pew  at  Grace  Church.  Horace 
was  strongest  in  his  opposition,  but  when  he  found 
that  his  parents  had  decided  to  go,  he  announced  his 
intention  to  accompany  them. 

"Since  you  persist,  mamma,  in  sealing  the  pres 
ent  connection  and  beginning  one  on  your  own  ac 
count^  I  prefer  to  go  and  look  after  Grace,"  he 
said. 

On  the  appointed  evening,  Grace,  the  first  to  be 
ready,  was  in  the  parlor  tying  together  a  bunch  of 
superb  roses.  She  was  an  attractive  little  person, 
with  a  trim  figure,  an  oval  face,  dark  eyes  and 
lashes,  and  most  beautiful  golden  hair.  She  wore 
a  dress  of  white  crepe,  made  with  simple  folds 
crossed  over  her  bosom  and  no  garnishings  save  a 
little  rare  lace  at  the  neck  and  wrists.  There  was 
an  unusual  glow  upon  her  face,  and  an  anxious  look 
swept  over  it  as  she  heard  her  brother's  step  coming 


40  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

down  stairs.  Grace  was  afraid  of  her  brother's 
criticism.  She  did  not  escape  it. 

"Your  flowers  are  too  many  to  wear,  Grace,"  he 
said,  bending  down  to  smell  them.  "Leave  some 
at  home,  do." 

"I  'm  not  going  to  wear  any  at  all;  they  are  for 
Rachel,"  she  said,  smiling.  Horace  looked  annoyed 
and  said,  "Are  you  studying  Quaker  simplicity, 
then?  Your  dress  looks  more  like  a  nun's  than  one 
for  a  party.  But  it 's  all  right,  considering  where 
you  are  taking  us.  Grace,"  he  said,  with  a  new 
tone  of  seriousness,  "be  careful.  It  is  a  great  re 
sponsibility  for  you  to  draw  the  family  into  this 
acquaintance.  Why  do  you  take  Miss  Stanwood 
flowers?  It  will  be  very  easy  for  you  to  lead  her 
on  to  expect  more  attention  from  you  than  you  will 
care  to  give  her  by  and  by.  Keep  her  where  she 
is,  and  don't  spoil  her  by" 

"Oh,  Horace!"  cried  Grace.  "Wait  until  you 
see  her  before  you  talk  so.  'Spoil'  her!  And 
'lead'  her!  Twenty  thousand  me's  couldn't  spoil 
her,  and  if  there  's  any  leading  to  do,  why  she  '11  be 
the  one,  not  I,  to  do  it.  But  no  matter !  I  'm  not 
going  to  say  another  word  about  her ;  all  I  want  is 
to  have  you  judge  for  yourself.  And  there  's  one 
comfort"  —putting  her  flowers  down  to  reach  her 
hands  up  to  her  brother's  shoulders,  and,  with  a 
sudden  gayety  which  was  irresistibly  pretty,  laugh 
ing  up  into  his  face. 

"What  is  it,  little  girl?  "  Horace  asked,  smiling. 

"Why  even  she  can't  spoil  you,  dear,  and  you  '11 
keep  the  family  straight  in  spite  of  poor  little  me," 
she  said,  and  really  believed  it. 


FRIENDS  AND  FRIENDS.  41 

"4  Little  me'  must  help,  all  the  same,"  said  Hor 
ace,  kissing  her.  "And  she  must  get  into  her  wraps, 
for  the  carriage  has  been  waiting  some  time,  and 
here  comes  mamma." 

Half  an  hour  later  they  were  in  the  Stan  woods' 
parlor.  A  small  company  of  some  thirty  or  forty 
people  were  assembled,  and  in  the  prevailing  simpli 
city,  most  of  the  ladies  having  on  gowns  of  cashmere 
or  silks  of  quiet  colors,  with  a  goodly  number  in  reg 
ular  Quaker  kerchief  and  cap,  Mrs.  Desborough's 
rich  lavender  silk  and  lace  were  conspicuous. 

Besides  the  silk  and  lace  Mrs.  Desborough  had  on 
her  social  armor,  but  the  welcome  of  her  host  and 
hostess  set  the  armor  at  defiance  and  made  it  use 
less. 

"Grace,  I  am  glad  to  see  thee,"  Mrs.  Stanwood 
said,  her  pleasure  evident  in  every  line  of  her  face. 
"  And  gladder  still  that  thee  has  brought  with  thee 
thy  mother  —  and  father  —  and  brother. "  She  gave 
her  hand  to  each  in  the  pauses.  "They  have  broken 
the  ice  and  we  shall  expect  them  now  to  claim  the 
freedom  of  friends  and  come  often."  Mr.  Stanwood 
followed  up  his  wife's  welcome,  saying,  "That  is 
sound  doctrine,  friends,  and  you  cannot  claim  more 
than  we  will  give ;  we  owe  more,  on  both  sides,  to  a 
friendship  which  begins  with  a  bond  between  our 
children." 

It  took  Mrs.  Desborough  time  to  recover  from 
speeches  like  these.  And  the  awkwardness  of  it! 
Mr.  Stanwood  had  kept  Mrs.  Desborough's  hand  in 
his  right  one,  had  given  his  left  to  her  husband,  and 
held  on  to  both  of  them  while  he  looked  from  one  to 


42  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

the  other  as  if  they  were  making  a  compact.  And 
to  be  received  as  secondary  to  their  daughter, 
"brought"  by  her;  and  "bonds"  and  "claims" 
thrown  at  them  —  what  a  piece  of  awkwardness  it 
all  was !  The  Desboroughs  were  not  in  the  attitude 
of  making  claims  of  any  description  whatever  upon 
the  Stan  woods.  They  had  come  there  to  give,  not 
to  receive.  Yes,  it  was  necessary  for  Mrs.  Des- 
borough  to  recover  a  little  and  she  looked  at  her 
husband  for  an  interchange  of  expression.  He  was 
being  introduced  to  a  little  lady  in  a  cap  of  rich  lace, 
whose  rather  large,  plain  features  upturned  to  him 
were  full  of  kindliness.  "  Cinderella's  godmother !  " 
Mrs.  Desborough  thought,  as  she  sat  down  upon  a 
sofa  by  the  folding-door  and  bent  her  head  to  a  lady 
already  seated  upon  it,  to  whom  she  had  been  pre 
sented,  but  whose  name  she  had  lost. 

"My  brother,  Miss  Stanwood,"  Grace  was  say 
ing  on  the  other  side  of  the  room.  Horace  gave  up 
the  bow  he  had  saved  for  Rachel,  and  bowed  before 
her  as  if  she  were  a  princess.  Grace  might  wear 
her  costliest  gown  and  handsomest  jewels,  but  she 
could  not  look  like  that.  Rachel,  standing  there, 
had  a  dignity  and  graciousness  which  seemed  a  nat 
ural  birthright.  It  made  no  difference  what  she 
wore;  Horace  forgot  to  notice.  Rachel,  after  pre 
senting  him  to  the  little  group  of  which  she  was  the 
centre,  said,  continuing  a  conversation  which  had 
evidently  been  interrupted,  "It  is  an  awful  question, 
but,  if  it  had  to  be  answered,  I  would  "- 

"Wait  a  minute,  before  thee  says  what  thee  would 
say,"  said  a  young  man  whom  Rachel  had  called  Mr. 


FRIENDS  AND  FfilENDS.  43 

Hedges.  "It  is  only  fair  that  Mr.  Desborough 
should  understand  what  we  are  talking  about." 

"  What  is  the  question?  'To  be,  or  not  to  be?  '  " 
asked  Horace. 

"Very  nearly  that  to  the  person  most  interested," 
said  Mr.  Hedges.  "It  is  this:  if  you  had  a  runa 
way  slave  concealed  in  your  house,  and  if  the  officer 
in  pursuit  of  him  should  come  with  a  warrant  to 
search  the  premises  and  should  say  to  you,  'I  will 
take  your  word  for  it,  if  you  will  answer  this  ques 
tion:  Is  the  fugitive  under  your  roof?'  What 
would  you  say?  " 

"You  are  assuming  that  the  answerer  wishes  to 
protect  the  slave,  but  not  his  master?"  asked  Hor 
ace. 

"Of  course!  Of  course!  "  cried  everybody  in  the 
group  at  once. 

"Protect  the  master  from  what?"  asked  Rachel, 
a  little  coldly. 

"Injustice,  perhaps?"  asked  Horace. 

"Injustice!"  whispered  two  Quaker  girls  in 
white,  looking  at  each  other  in  dismay. 

"I  would  protect  him  from  more  than  injustice, 
- 1  would  save  him  from  committing  the  crime  of 
dooming  a  person  to  slavery,"  said  Mr.  Hedges, 
quietly,  looking  at  Horace  as  if  he  pitied  him. 
There  was  a  murmur  of  sympathy  from  the  group, 
excepting  from  Rachel,  whose  eyes  looked  search- 
ingly  at  Horace. 

"How  about  the  crime  of  withholding  a  man's 
property  from  him?"  asked  Horace. 

"Thee  calls  it  that?  "  asked  Susy  Morton,  one  of 


44  EACH  EL  STAN  WOOD. 

the  girls  in  white.  She  opened  her  round  eyes  at 
him,  and  her  lips  remained  parted  in  horror.  "  Does 
thee  believe  in  slavery,  then?  "  asked  another  of  the 
young  girls. 

He  flushed  as  he  saw  the  impression  he  had  pro 
duced,  and  made  an  effort  to  explain.  "Oh,  no,  — 
not  at  all,"  he  said.  "I  look  upon  it  as  an  evil,  — 
a  great  evil,  and  should  be  glad  if  it  did  not  exist. 
I  should  be  sorry  to  return  a  slave  to  the  South, 
but"  —they  were  all  intent  upon  what  he  was  go 
ing  to  say —  "if  one  had  taken  refuge  with  me,  and 
his  owner  came  to  inquire  for  him,  I  might  feel 
it  my  duty  to  give  him  up.  Every  person  is  en 
titled  to  what  belongs  to  him,  and  I  consider  that 
a  slave -owner  has  the  same  right  to  reclaim  a  slave 
who  has  escaped  from  him  that  any  of  you  would 
have  to  reclaim  a  horse,  or  any  property  which 
might  be  stolen  from  you." 

There  was  an  outburst  of  protest  and  opinion. 
Horace  wanted  Miss  Stanwood  to  speak.  He  had 
addressed  himself  principally  to  her  and  she  had 
looked  at  him  with  that  steady  gaze,  as  if  she  were 
listening  to  somebody  who  belonged  to  another 
world  than  hers,  who  had  nothing  in  common  with 
her.  He  longed  to  change  the  expression  of  her 
eyes,  to  put  himself  at  least  inside  the  threshold  of 
her  world.  She  had  not  moved,  but  the  color  in 
her  cheeks  had  deepened  and  with  Grace's  roses, 
which  she  held  against  her  dress,  —  Horace  noticed 
now  its  delicate  pearl-gray  tint,  — he  thought  he 
had  never  seen  any  one  half  so  beautiful. 

But   the  murmurs   of  dissent  had   not   subsided 


FRIENDS  AND  FRIENDS.  45 

when  Mrs.  Stanwoocl  came  with  an  interruption 
which  scattered  the  group. 

"Mr.  Desborough!"  she  exclaimed,  with  sudden 
energy,  "thee  is  the  very  person  whom  we  want. 
Will  thee  come  this  way  with  me?  Follow  us,  Ra- 
chel;  I  want  thee,  too." 

Horace  would  have  offered  Mrs.  Stanwood  his 
arm,  but  she  kept  her  plump  little  hand  upon  his 
wrist  and  drew  him  away  to  a  rosy-faced,  stout  lady 
in  Quaker  dress,  who  had  been  having  brisk  conver 
sations  on  important  business  with  different  people 
in  the  room.  She  was  writing  some  memoranda  in 
a  notebook,  and  was  so  intent  that  Mrs.  Stanwood 
and  Horace  waited  until  she  was  through.  Then 
she  looked  into  their  faces  with  an  expression  which 
seemed  to  call  them  up  as  next  in  order  on  a  list. 
Horace  felt  a  little  like  the  slave  whose  case  he  had 
just  been  considering,  for  Mrs.  Stanwood  had  taken 
possession  of  him  and  seemed  to  deliver  him  to  the 
Quaker  lady,  as  she  said,  "Here  is  exactly  the  right 
person  for  thy  committee  on  decorations,  Hannah. 
He  is  Grace  Desborough' s  brother  Horace.  When 
thee  has  told  him  what  thee  has  for  him  to  do,  in 
troduce  him  to  the  others  on  the  committee."  She 
was  off  before  Horace  could  speak,  to  meet  Ra 
chel,  who  had  followed  part  way  across  the  room. 
Horace  wished  that  he  could  return  to  her,  but  he 
felt  himself  in  the  clutches  of  the  committee  lady. 

Rachel  waited  for  her  mother  to  dispose  of  Mr. 
Desborough,  and  then  they  went  together  to  the  back 
end  of  the  hall. 

"I  want  thee  to  talk  with  Mrs.  Riverston  on  busi- 


46  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

ness,"  Mrs.  Stanwood  said,  pushing  to  a  door  which 
led  into  the  back  parlor. 

"Oh,  mother!  "  Kachel  exclaimed  softly.  "I  'm 
in  mortal  terror  of  both  Mrs.  and  Miss  Riverston!  " 

" Nonsense!  How  ridiculous!"  said  her  mother 
laughing.  "Afraid  of  Mrs.  Eiverston,  and  yet 
able  to  face  that  slaveholder  the  other  day !  Thee 
was  not  afraid  of  him!  " 

"Of  course  not!"  exclaimed  Rachel  with  deci 
sion.  "He  was  wrong, — he  wanted  to  commit  a 
crime,  and  we  were  bound  to  save  Harriet.  I  had 
no  chance  to  think  of  myself  then,  but,  if  I  had,  it 
would  have  been  to  feel  my  own  superiority.  In 
the  Riverston  presence  I  'm  less  than  nobody. 
'They  carry  too  much  sail,'  as  Will  Hedges  says. 
They  bear  down  upon  me  with  their  grandeur,  and  I 
go  under." 

Mrs.  Stanwood  laughed  gently  up  in  her  daugh 
ter's  face  and  said,  with  good-natured  derision:  — 

"Thee  nobody!  I  don't  think  thee  could  really 
feel  thyself  nobody  in  the  presence  of  a  Riverston, 
Rachel.  They  want  our  help  just  now  in  a  little 
matter  of  charity,  and  Mrs.  Riverston  has  only  just 
said  to  me  that  'my  daughter,  with  her  great  force 
of  character,  would  be  just  the  person  to  attend  to 
it.'  Indeed,  she  gave  me  the  impression  that  she 
was  rather  afraid  of  thee." 

"Oh,  so  she  is,  in  a  way,"  said  Rachel.  "She 
looked  daggers  at  me  awhile  ago,  when  her  son, 
Burton,  was  talking  to  me.  She  and  her  daughter 
both  despise  me,  mammy  dear,  and  there  is  no  get 
ting  around  the  fact ;  but  what  does  she  want  me  to 


FEIENDS  AND  FRIENDS.  47 

do?  I  'm  ready  for  her,  and  I  '11  smother  my  feel 
ings, —  don't  be  worried."  And  Rachel  straight 
ened  her  mother's  little  white  silk  shawl,  which 
might  have  been  a  hair's  breadth  out  of  the  way, 
and  smiled  at  her. 

"They  are  in  trouble  about  a  young  Scotch  girl 
whom  they  have  brought  here  with  them.  She  has 
a  wonderful  voice,  they  say,  and  some  fashionable 
ladies  have  been  dressing  her  up  and  getting  her  to 
sing  at  their  parties.  The  Riverstons  expected  to 
make  a  great  singer  out  of  her,  but  they  have  come 
to  a  stopping-place,  and  don't  know  what  to  do  with 
her.  I  told  Mrs.  Riverston  that  I  did  not  under 
stand  anything  about  music,  but  would  consult  my 
daughter.  The  poor  girl  has  no  friends,  and  "  — 

"And  the  Riverstons  are  tired  of  her  and  would 
like  to  pass  her  over  to  us,  —I  see,  mother,"  said 
Rachel,  a  little  haughtily.  "Well!  "  she  sighed  as 
she  looked  down  at  her  mother's  perplexed  face. 
They  were  quite  alone  in  the  corner,  and  Rachel, 
with  a  pretty  caress,  put  her  arms  about  her  mother 
and  said,  — 

"When  everybody  else  gives  a  poor  thing  up, 
then  it 's  little  mammy's  turn.  If  the  Scotch  girl 
hasn't  any  friends  in  the  world,  then  she  is  on  the 
eve  of  having  the  best  one  the  world  can  produce 
for  her!  Shall  we  have  her  for  a  cook?  or  a  cham 
bermaid?  Or  shall  we  have  to  let  her  take  in 
sewing  to  enable  us  to  keep  her?  But  there!  It's 
all  right,  mother  dear."  Straightening  her  shawl 
again  and  kissing  her  forehead,  "Thee  go  to  the 
company  and  I  '11  find  Mrs.  Riverston."  She  found 


48  RACHEL  STAN  WOO  I). 

the  lady  near  the  front  parlor  windows,  in  all  her 
splendor,  a  mountain  of  black  lace.  She  was  a  tall, 
large,  showy  woman,  with  a  weak  face.  Her  hair, 
in  gray  puffs  over  her  temples,  made  her  head  look 
a  little  too  large.  She  stood  very  erect,  with  her 
head  thrown  back  and  to  one  side.  Rachel  had 
more  listening  to  do  than  talking.  It  was  as  she 
had  supposed ;  the  lady  was  anxious  to  pass  over  to 
Mrs.  Stan  wood  a  case  which  was  evidently  trouble 
some.  In  fact  she  was  rather  desirous  of  dropping 
all  responsibility  for  the  person  in  question,  for  when 
Rachel  gave  it  as  her  opinion  that  a  fine  voice  ought 
to  be  cultivated,  and  suggested  consulting  her  music 
teacher,  Herr  Kreutsohn,  Mrs.  Riverston  caught 
her  up,  saying,  "That  is  exactly  what  I  would  ad 
vise,  Miss  Stanwood.  Your  judgment  is  excellent, 
and  I  hope  that  your  protegee  will  profit  by  it." 
Rachel  did  not  reply,  she  only  admired  Mrs.  River- 
ston's  skill  in  presenting  her  with  a  protegee  whom 
she  had  not  seen.  Meanwhile  the  Scotch  girl,  from 
the  window  recess  close  by,  was  scowling  at  Mrs. 
Riverston 's  back,  with  an  expression  which  might 
justify  that  lady's  desire  to  pass  her  along  to  some 
body  else. 

"  What  is  that  Quaker  lady  doing  with  Horace  ? 
Why  doesn't  he  stay  with  Grace,  and  where  is 
she?"  Mrs.  Desborough  was  wondering,  from  her 
sofa.  But  the  lady  beside  her  was  telling  her  some 
thing  about  a  place  called  Brook  Farm,  and  she 
wanted  to  hear. 

Horace  was  interested  in  that  conversation  about 
the  slave,  and  did  not  like  being  taken  away  from  it. 


FRIENDS  AND  FRIENDS.  49 

He  wanted  to  know  what  Rachel  would  have  an 
swered  to  that  question.  However,  she,  too,  had 
been  driven  away,  and  the  thought  that  any  talk 
with  her  just  now  was  impossible  made  it  easier  for 
him  to  transfer  his  attention  to  the  "committee 
lady,"  whose  surname  had  not  been  given  to  him. 
She  was  looking  into  his  face,  waiting  for  him  to 
speak. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  madam,"  he  said,  chagrined 
at  being  caught  off  guard.  "I  did  not  hear;  I  am 
afraid  I  was  preoccupied;  did  you  ask  me  some 
thing?" 

"Yes,  I  asked  if  thee  was  a  good  carpenter,"  she 
said. 

Horace  wondered  if  she  was  in  her  right  mind. 
"I  —  I  have  not  been  trained  in  the  business,"  he 
said,  flushing. 

"But  thee  can  saw  a  board  and  hammer  nails? 
Of  course.  Then  I  '11  put  thee  down  as  chairman 
of"  —  she  was  saying  placidly,  but  Horace  ex 
claimed,  seeing  her  pencil  ready  to  make  an  entry 
in  the  little  book,  "Oh,  wait,  I  beg,  madam! 
Chairman  of  what,  pray?  And  how  can  I  consent 
without  understanding?" 

"Oh,  easily,"  said  the  lady,  writing  down  his 
name.  "Thee  can  consent  first,  and  I  '11  get  Ra 
chel  Stan  wood  to  explain  afterward.  There  she  is, 
talking  with  Mrs.  River ston.  And  there  are  the 
Hutchinsons  just  beyond.  I  want  them  to  sing  for 
the  cause,  so  come  and  I  will  invite  them  to  do  it, 
while  thee  tells  Rachel  that  thee  is  chairman  of 
her  committee,  and  asks  her  all  the  questions  thee 


50  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

wants  to."  She  took  his  arm  and  led  him  toward 
the  group,  which  they  reached  just  as  she  was  an 
swering  his  question,  again  repeated,  "Chairman  of 
what?" 

"The  committee  on  decoration  for  the  Anti- 
Slavery  Fair,"  she  said,  and  touched  Rachel's  arm 
to  say  to  her,  "When  thee  is  through  with  what 
thee  is  saying  to  Mrs.  Riverston,  explain  to  Grace 
Desborough's  brother  his  duties  on  the  decoration 
committee,  — he  's  chairman  of  it."  And  the  busy 
little  woman  whisked  off  as  if  her  stint  with  Horace 
was  accomplished  and  she  had  handed  him  over  to 
Rachel  for  the  finishing  touches. 

Mr.  Stanwood  coming  to  say  something  to  Mrs. 
Riverston,  Rachel  turned  to  Horace.  He  had 
meant  to  decline  positively,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
to  serve  on  any  committee,  anywhere.  But  Rachel 
was  looking  up  at  him  with  surprise  and  pleasure  on 
her  face,  saying,  "Oh,  thank  you  so  much!  It  is 
so  hard  to  get  gentlemen !  " 

Here  she  was,  placing  him  where,  a  little  while 
ago,  he  had  wanted  to  be,  —  within  the  boundary  of 
her  interests.  He  would  not  refuse  yet  to  remain 
there.  He  longed  to  hear  her  talk  and  would  not 
deny  himself  the  opportunity,  but  would  listen  to  all 
she  had  to  say  about  the  work  of  that  committee, 
before  he  made  known  his  inability  to  share  in  it. 

"Hard  to  get  gentlemen?"  he  asked,  adding, 
"There  is  the  lady  who  appointed  me,  talking  to 
three  now ;  may  be  she  is  putting  them  on  the  com 
mittee,  too." 

"Oh  no,  never!  "  said  Rachel  laughing.     "Those 


FRIENDS  AND  FRIENDS.  51 

are  the  Hutchiiisons;  they  will  sing  for  us,  but  we 
cannot  ask  them  to  work !  It  is  very  kind  of  you, 
Mr.  Desborough,  to  be  so  self -sacrificing.  And  if 
Grace  takes  part,  too,  that  will  be  delightful!  " 

uls  Grace  on  a  committee,  Miss  Stan  wood?" 
asked  Horace,  in  alarm. 

"Not  that  I  know,"  said  Rachel,  "but  we  can 
have  her  upon  ours,  if  she  would  like  it." 

"Not  for  the  world!"  said  Horace  impulsively. 
"I'd  rather  —  that  is,  my  sister  is  unaccustomed  to 
serving  on  committees,  and  I  think,  at  home,  they 
would  not  approve  of  her  doing  so."  He  again  post 
poned  a  protest  on  his  own  behalf,  rather  enjoying 
Rachel's  appropriation  of  him  in  calling  the  com 
mittee  theirs. 

"Perhaps  you,  too,  would  disapprove,"  said  Ra 
chel,  becoming  grave.  "You  were  saying  things 
awhile  ago  about  the  rights  of  slaveholders  to  come 
North  and  hunt  runaway  slaves.  I  was  surprised, 
on  top  of  that,  to  hear  Aunt  Hannah  say  you  were 
going  to  work  with  us.  I  thought  perhaps  I  had 
misunderstood.  Aren't  you  an  abolitionist?  " 

"Not  exactly,"  said  Horace,  wishing  that  she, 
too,  would  postpone  troublesome  thoughts  a  little. 

"Are  you  ^ro-slavery,  —  all  but  Grace?"  she 
asked  quickly. 

"Oh,  no,  you  don't  understand,  Miss  Stan- 
wood!"  Horace  exclaimed.  Her  face  looked  for 
bidding  again,  and  he  wanted  to  avoid  differences 
between  them.  He  was  not  going  to  ciiltivate 
Grace's  friend,  but  something  made  him,  at  least, 
not  wish  to  stand  ill  with  her ;  he  wished  to  make  a 


52  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

good  impression.  So  he  hastened  to  say,  "We  do 
not  call  ourselves  members  of  any  party  which  is 
actively  engaged  in  the  suppression  of  slavery.  I 
think  my  sister  Grace  would  certainly  not  go  so  far 
as  to  desire  to  be  associated  with  such  a  party. 
But,"  he  tried  to  make  this  statement  impressive, 
"  we  should  all  be  devoutly  glad  if  the  institution  of 
slavery  did  not  exist.  As  it  does  exist,  and  to 
oppose  it  would  "  — 

"Well?  "asked  Rachel,  as  he  hesitated,  "What 
would  it  do  to  you  to  oppose  what  you  think 
wrong?" 

She  was  not  in  the  least  bold,  she  was  simply 
waiting  to  hear  what  he  was  going  to  say.  He 
looked  at  her,  thought  how  clear  and  honest  her  eyes 
were,  and  remembering  what  a  pretty  light  had 
come  into  them  when  she  thanked  him  for  joining 
her  committee,  he  wanted  to  make  it  come  again. 
But  he  felt  himself  on  the  wrong  track. 

"Nothing,"  he  said,  "but  I  don't  believe  in 
things  which  stir  up  the  community." 

"You  might  word  it  as  they  do  sometimes  among 
the  Quakers,"  Eachel  said  dryly.  "'Things  which 
are  calculated  to  create  opposition  and  sow  discord 
among  friends.'  Then  you  had  better  withdraw 
from  our  fair  work  as  quickly  as  possible,  Mr. 
Desborough,  for  its  entire  object  is  to  stir  up  the 
community." 

"Tell  me  more  about  the  work,"  he  said.  "You 
cannot  expect  me  to  desert  a  committee  when  all  I 
have  learned  about  it  is  the  fact  that  it  is  difficult 
to  obtain  the  help  you  need.  Mrs.  —  Miss  —  the 


FRIENDS  AND  FEIENDS.  53 

lady  who  gave  me  my  office,  said  you  would  instruct 
me;  when  will  you  give  me  my  first  lesson,  Miss 
Stan  wood?" 

44  On  Tuesday  evening  at  eight  o'clock,  when  the 
committee  meets  here,"  said  Rachel,  hastily  throw 
ing  the  opportunity  at  him,  as  she  saw  a  general  stir 
among  the  guests  and  knew  they  could  not  talk  any 
longer.  "  But  don't  come,  if  you  think  better  of  it, 
Mr.  Desborough,"  she  said  sarcastically,  as  she  was 
moving  away.  "We  have  plenty  of  women  to  do 
the  work,  and  can  get  along  perfectly  well." 

"Without  me,"  Horace  added  to  himself,  as  she 
bowed  and  left  him. 

"Look  at  my  Lord  Duke!  "  whispered  Susy  Mor 
ton  to  Martha  Quimby.  "He  looks  glum.  I  don't 
believe  he  got  along  with  Ray  very  well." 

"I  guess  it 's  mutual;  she  looked  like  a  thunder 
cloud,"  said  Martha. 

Three  poetic  -  looking  young  gentlemen  placed 
themselves  in  a  row,  close  by  Horace,  who  immedi 
ately  crossed  over  to  a  place  behind  his  mother's 
sofa.  The  people  rustled  into  places,  and  "The 
Hutchinsons  are  going  to  sing,"  was  repeated  from 
one  to  another. 

The  three  young  men  smiled  at  the  company  in  a 
genial  way,  as  if  they  were  confident  of  pleasing 
them,  and,  looking  at  one  another,  began  to  sing. 
Their  first  song  announced  them,  - 

"  We  're  a  band  of  brothers, 
We  're  a  band  of  brothers, 
We  're  a  band  of  brothers 
From  the  Old  Granite  State." 


54  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

In  more  verses,  the  song  went  on  to  tell  their 
names  and  that  they  had  "come  from  the  mountains 
of  the  Old  Granite  State"  to  join  the  anti-slavery 
party  and  to  help  break  the  chains  of  bondage. 
Their  voices  were  clear  and  pleasing,  and  they  sang 
in  harmony,  pronouncing  every  word  so  that  it  was 
understood  without  effort.  There  was  a  piano  in 
the  room,  but  they  used  it  to  strike  the  key  only, 
and  sang  without  accompaniment.  When  the  song 
was  ended  there  were  murmurs  of  gratification 
throughout  the  two  rooms.  But  little  applause  was 
expressed  in  the  clapping  of  hands. 

"Have you  been  to  the  Castle  Garden  concerts?" 
Mrs.  Desborough  asked  her  companion  on  the  sofa 
where  she  still  sat.  The  lady  who  had  been  her 
first  companion  there  had  gone  to  make  one  of  a 
changing  group  who  continually  surrounded  Miss 
Bremer.  The  gentleman  now  talking  to  Mrs.  Des 
borough  had  a  very  bald  head  and  a  face  remark 
able  for  its  strength  and  benignity. 

He  had  listened  to  the  singing  with  particular 
enjoyment.  He  did  not  hear  Mrs.  Desborough' s  re 
mark,  for  his  eyes  had  lighted  upon  Elizabeth  and 
Richard  Stan  wood,  who  were  seated  upon  two  little 
benches,  backed  up  against  a  lady  with  an  exceed 
ingly  pleasant  face.  There  was  upon  it  a  glow  of 
kindliness  which  seemed  to  take  in  every  person  in 
the  room,  as  she  turned  it  from  one  to  another  di 
rection.  Her  light  brown  hair,  streaked  with  gray, 
was  brushed  down  on  her  temples  in  loops  which 
came  low  on  her  cheeks  before  they  were  turned 
up  behind  her  ears.  She  wore  a  cap  which  covered 


FRIENDS  AND  FEIENDS.  55 

only  the  back  of  her  head  on  top,  but  it  had  frilled 
ear-tabs  which  came  forward  over  her  ears  to  meet 
the  soft  loops  of  hair.  The  Hutchinsons,  joined  by 
their  sweet-faced  sister,  Abby,  sang  another  short 
song  beginning  with,  - 

"  Ho  !  the  car  Emancipation 
Rides  triumphant  through  the  nation." 

The  children  sat  motionless  through  it,  Betty  in 
a  day-dream,  without  the  least  idea  where  she  was, 
Dick  with  burning  red  cheeks  and  little  fists 
clenched. 

"There  is  the  real  fire  of  abolitionism  just  start 
ing,"  said  Mrs.  Desborough's  companion  to  her, 
drawing  her  attention  to  Dick.  "And  no  place  could 
be  more  fitting  for  the  kindling  of  such  fires  than  at 
that  lady's  feet." 

"Indeed?"  asked  Mrs.  Desborough,  looking  at 
the  lady  through  her  eyeglasses.  "She  looks  too 
amiable  to  kindle  such  fires ;  may  I  ask  who  she  is?  " 

"She  is  Lydia  Maria  Child,"  answered  the  gen 
tleman.  "Have  you  read  her  'Letters  from  New 
York'?" 

"No,  I  have  not.  What  'Child'?  That  is  a 
New  England  name,  is  it  not?"  asked  Mrs.  Des 
borough. 

"She  is  the  wife  of  David  Lee  Child,  the  gentle 
man  by  the  mantelpiece,  who  looks  like  Thorwald- 
sen,  —  one  of  the  stanchest  abolitionists  in  the 
room,"  said  the  gentleman. 

"Indeed?"  asked  Mrs.  Desborough,  trying  to 
look  interested.  "  And  who  is  the  very  handsome 
gentleman  speaking  to  Mrs.  Child?" 


56  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

"Oh,  he?"  exclaimed  the  gentleman,  his  face 
lighting  up  all  over.  "  He  is  one  who  has  done,  and 
is  doing,  a  mighty  work  for  the  anti-slavery  cause. 
He  has  come  to  us  from  England  to  help,  as  only 
he  can  help,  to  lift  up  the  downtrodden  Africans." 

The  gentleman  went  forward  eagerly  to  meet  Mr. 
George  Thompson,  M.  P.,  who  advanced  with  both 
hands  held  out  to  him. 

"Horace,"  said  Mrs.  Desborough,  looking  up 
over  her  shoulder  to  her  son,  who  bent  down  to  hear 
her  say  in  an  undertone :  — 

"Do  find  out  who  some  of  these  people  are.  That 
gentleman  who  has  just  left  me  tells  me  nothing  but 
that  they  are  abolitionists.  Who  is  he,  to  begin 
with?  And  who  is  the  magnificent-looking  gentle 
man  just  coming  toward  us  with  the  little  dark-eyed 
Quaker  lady  ?  I  would  like  him  to  be  introduced  to 
me,  Horace ;  he  looks  distinguished  and  I  am  sure 
he  is  not  an  abolitionist." 

Horace  stepped  back  and  joined  his  friend  Burt 
Riverston,  who  was  always  sure  to  know  who  every 
body  was. 

Tea,  coffee,  and  chocolate  were  being  passed  by 
the  young  men  and  girls  in  the  company. 

"Mamma,"  whispered  Horace,  handing  her  a  cup 
of  chocolate,  "your  friend  with  the  bald  head  is 
William  Lloyd  Garrison;  the  dark-eyed  little 
Quaker  lady  is  Mrs.  Lucretia  Mott,  and  the  distin 
guished-looking  gentleman  whom  you  wish  pre 
sented  to  you,  and  who  you  think  is  not  an  aboli 
tionist,  is  Wendell  Phillips! " 

"Good  heavens!"  whispered    Mrs.   Desborough, 


FRIENDS  AND  FEIENDS.  57 

as  she  rose  with  her  chocolate.  "We  are  in  a  hot 
bed  of  them.  Let  us  go,  Horace.  Where  are  your 
father  and  Grace?  " 

But  Horace  was  not  in  a  hurry  to  go.  He  had 
had  a  spirited  conversation  with  two  or  three  of 
the  young  Quaker  girls,  and  he  wanted  a  few  more 
words  with  Rachel. 

"Whatever  the  people  are,  mamma,  they  are 
wide-awake  and  interesting,"  he  said.  "Even  the 
children  seem  that." 

"The  children  ought  to  be  in  bed,"  said  Mrs. 
Desborough. 

"Generally  they  are  at  this  hour,"  said  Mrs. 
Mott,  who  overheard,  and  came  to  sit  down  upon 
the  seat  Mr.  Garrison  had  left,  just  as  Elizabeth 
steered  her  way,  with  a  plate  of  cakes,  around  Mrs. 
Desborough' s  skirts.  As  that  lady  moved  to  see 
what  the  child  was  about,  her  dress  swept  a  few  of 
the  cakes  upon  the  floor. 

"Never  mind,  dear!"  said  Mrs.  Mott,  kindly, 
holding  out  her  hand.  "Let  me  have  the  plate 
while  thee  picks  up  what  fell,  before  anybody  steps 
on  it.  That  's  it!  No,  dear,  we  won't  put  it  back 
with  the  rest,  —  put  it  on  my  plate.  Now  hand  some 
to  this  friend."  Then  to  Mrs.  Desborough:  "Will 
thee  sit  down  ?  And  will  thee  be  so  good  as  to  tell 
me  thy  name?  Mine  is  Mott,  —  Lucretia  Mott." 

Mrs.  Desborough  sat  down  again,  and  in  the  sun 
shine  of  Mrs.  Mott  recovered  her  amiability,  which 
had  tottered  considerably  when  the  cake  fell. 

Richard,  following  in  his  sister's  wake,  ducked 
under  Mr.  Garrison's  elbow  with  a  silver  basket  full 


58  EACHEL  STANWOOD. 

of  home-made  sponge  cake,  which  he  offered  to  the 
two  ladies.  Mrs.  Mott  remarked  upon  its  tempting 
quality.  Richard  announced  with  pride,  "Sister 
Rachel  made  it." 

The  room  hushed  again  for  another  song  by  the 
Hutchinsons.  It  was  like  the  others,  about  the 
wrong  of  slavery  and  the  inevitable  day  which  was 
to  dawn  at  last  upon  universal  liberty. 

In  the  back  parlor,  farthest  away  from  the  singers, 
Grace  Desborough  stood  apart  and  listened.  Before 
the  singing  Susy  Morton  had  pointed  out  to  her,  at 
work  in  the  china  closet,  a  fine-looking  woman,  as 
light  as  any  brunette  and  with  straight  hair  gath 
ered  prettily  into  a  knot  at  the  back  of  her  head. 
Grace  was  horrified  by  the  information  that  the 
woman  was  a  fugitive  slave,  who  had  escaped  witli 
her  little  girl  at  the  same  time  with  Harriet  Wilson 
and  from  the  same  master.  Susy  also  told  Grace, 
with  much  spirit,  the  story  of  Harriet's  escape  on 
the  day  when  her  master  had  come  to  search  the 
Stanwoods'  house  for  her,  and  the  part  the  children, 
Elizabeth  and  Richard,  had  played  in  it. 

The  face  of  the  young  slave -mother  wore  an  ex 
pression  of  peculiar  sadness ;  it  looked  as  if  it  had 
lost  the  power  to  smile.  The  song  awakened  in  it 
no  interest,  although  its  owner  listened  attentively. 
But  to  Grace,  watching  that  face,  which  looked  to 
her  hopeless  in  its  sorrow,  the  song  was  stirring. 
Its  joyous  notes  and  words  of  expectation  became  to 
her  a  beseeching  cry  for  liberty.  Her  eyes  filled 
with  tears.  She  felt  for  her  handkerchief,  and  turn 
ing  aside,  that  her  emotion  might  not  be  observed, 


FRIENDS  AND  FRIENDS.  59 

she  found  herself  face  to  face  with  the  young  man 
whom  Rachel  had  introduced  to  her  as  Mr.  William 
Hedges. 

"Have  you  seen  these  pictures,  Miss  Desbor- 
ough?  "  he  asked  quickly,  drawing  her  attention  to 
two  fine  oil  paintings  on  the  wall.  "They  are  fine 
copies  of  two  of  Moreland's,  and  you  cannot  often 
have  a  chance  to  see  the  like.  They  are  called 
'Winter  '  and  'Summer.'  The  'Winter  '  appeals  to 
me  the  most,  with  the  sheep  in  the  fold,  the  glimpses 
of  winter  landscape,  and  the  old  farmer  looking  so 
content." 

"Yes,"  said  Grace,  relieved  to  think  that  possibly 
he  had  not  noticed  her  tears,  and  wiping  them  away 
surreptitiously.  She  allowed  him  to  talk  on  about 
the  pictures,  and  stood  where  she  could  use  him  as 
a  shield,  for  she  was  in  a  sensitive  state  of  mind,  and 
it  was  hard  to  control  herself.  She  had  come  to  the 
party  light-hearted  and  full  of  hope  that  her  parents 
and  brother  were  going  to  see  the  Stanwoods  as  she 
saw  them.  But  her  father  was  giving  all  his  atten 
tion  to  the  Riverstons,  her  mother  had  remained  in 
her  seat  and  the  expression  of  her  face  meant  criti 
cism.  Horace  had  had  a  fine  chance  to  talk  with 
Rachel,  but  he  looked  annoyed,  not  pleased,  when 
she  left  him. 

Grace  had  a  hurt  feeling  that,  instead  of  perceiv 
ing  any  of  the  things  which  made  her  reverence  these 
people,  her  father  was  not  noticing  them,  and  her 
mother  and  Horace  were  seeing  only  what  was  gro 
tesque.  And  there  was  plenty  of  that  to  see.  Scat 
tered  through  the  rooms  were  people  who  could  not 


60  EACHEL  STANWOOD. 

appear  in  any  but  a  ridiculous  light  to  a  person  like 
Mrs.  Desborough;  reformers,  who  had  no  talent  or 
money  to  use  in  the  adornments  of  dress,  and  yet 
who  could  not  escape  from  a  natural  love  of  it.  On 
some  of  the  ladies  there  were  odds  and  ends  of  finery, 
put  together  with  conspicuous  lack  of  taste ;  and  some 
of  the  gentlemen  exhibited  strange  fancies  in  shirt- 
collars,  cravats,  waistcoats,  and  the  cut  of  their  gar 
ments.  With  some  the  hair  was  a  study,  and  there 
were  a  few  who  looked  as  if  they  had  gotten  into  the 
wrong  garments  altogether.  The  confident  belief 
that  the  result  was  satisfactory,  or  the  very  uncon 
sciousness  of  any  other  than  a  pleasing  one,  added 
to  the  grotesque  appearance  of  these  people.  So 
when  William  Hedges  came  upon  Grace,  in  her 
corner,  and  began  talking  about  the  Moreland  pic 
tures,  she  was  eager  to  seek  out  and  dwell  upon  every 
thing  which  was  beautiful  or  admirable  in  the  home 
of  the  friends  for  whom  she  was  painfully  solicitous. 

William  Hedges  had  more  penetration  than  she 
gave  him  credit  for.  He  had  seen  her  tears  very 
unmistakably,  and  because  it  was  his  instinct  to 
make  everybody  to  whom  he  came  near  comfortable, 
he  had  shielded  her  from  his  own  observation. 

"There  are  so  many  pretty  things  in  this  house," 
said  Grace,  presently,  looking  at  the  "  Winter"  pic 
ture,  but  not  thinking  of  it.  "It  seems  as  if  the 
people  " 

"Seems?"  asked  Will,  after  waiting  an  instant. 
"I  wish  you  would  not  stop  there.  You  were  going 
to  say  something  good  about  the  people  and  I  want 
to  hear  it.  Please  go  on,  —  I  want  the  chance  to 


F1UENDS  AND  FRIENDS.  61 

say,  'Seems,  madam?     Nay,  it  is!9     For  1  know, 
you  see." 

She  had  stopped  because  her  eyes  wanted  to  fill 
again,  and  she  was  determined  not  to  let  them.  He 
covered  her  emotion  skillfully  and  kindly.  "I  was 
only  going  to  say  that  the  Stanwoods  make  the  best 
out  of  everything.  I  think  they  " 

"Well?  "  asked  Will  gently.  uYou  need  not  be 
afraid  to  tell  me  what  you  think  of  them,  Miss  Des- 
borough ;  I  have  known  them  all  my  life.  Next  to 
the  Mortons,  who  are  the  only  relatives  I  know  any 
thing  about,  the  Stanwoods  are  the  nearest  friends 
I  have.  They  have  made  me  feel  like  doing  my 
part  in  the  world  as  well  as"  —he  finished  with  a 
comical  laugh,  —  "as  nature  will  permit." 

"That  is  just  what  I  mean,"  exclaimed  Grace, 
catching  at  his  serious  thought,  "  and  if  I  had  the 
chance  to  work  with  you  all,  I  feel  as  if  even  the 
little  /could  do  would  help  somebody." 

Will's  face  lighted  up  as  he  met  her  little  burst 
of  confidence.  He  longed  to  be  honest  and  say 
something  bold  in  his  admiration  of  her.  But  he 
would  not,  for  the  world,  have  made  her  conscious. 
He  asked  what  kind  of  work  she  would  like  to  do, 
and  she  pointed  to  the  slave-woman  who  was  thread 
ing  her  way  through  the  room,  collecting  cups  and 
saucers  from  the  guests  who  had  finished  with  them. 

"I  would  like  to  help  those  people,"  she  said. 
"If  I  could  do  ever  and  ever  so  little  for  them,  it 
would  make  me  glad.  The  little  children  even,  in 
this  house,  helped  one  of  them  the  other  day.  They 
do  it  from  instinct." 


62  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

Two  red  spots  burned  on  her  cheeks  and  she 
looked  at  Will  with  deepened,  earnest  eyes,  as  if 
she  craved  some  opportunity  which  was  denied  her. 

They  rehearsed  the  story  of  Harriet's  escape,  and 
Will  told  her  more  about  the  slaves.  It  was  only 
accidental,  he  said,  that  the  woman  whom  Grace  had 
observed  had  not  been  in  the  house  with  her  child 
at  the  time  of  the  slaveholder's  search.  "And 
in  that  case,"  Will  explained,  "they  could  hardly 
have  been  saved,  for  it  is  difficult  to  conceal  chil 
dren.  Suppose,  for  instance,  that  Havilah  Moore 
and  little  Diana  —  those  are  their  names  —  had 
been  with  Harriet,  on  the  other  side  of  that  fence, 
when  their  master  was  talking  to  Betty  and  Dick. 
Diana  would  probably  have  made  some  sound,  and 
the  three  would  have  been  betrayed.  Mr.  Cumley 
could  never  have  got  so  many  away." 

It  was  a  pitiful  story,  from  beginning  to  end,  and 
it  wrought  upon  Grace's  feelings  as  nothing  had 
ever  done  before. 

"Havilah!  Havilah  Moore!  "  she  said.  "It  is  a 
strange  name,  but  I  like  it."  For  a  few  moments 
they  were  silent.  Grace  leaned  back  against  the 
side  of  the  window  and  looked  out  into  the  dark 
ness.  She  seemed  depressed,  and  Will  regretted 
that  he  had  told  her  anything  about  Havilah.  He 
watched  her  a  moment  and  then  said  gayly,  "But  we 
are  getting  dreary  ourselves.  The  slaves  were  not 
caught,  and  the  anti-slavery  society  will  probably  get 
them  off  somehow." 

Grace  turned  her  face  to  him  with  an  impulsive 
movement  and  exclaimed  vehemently,  "Oh,  how  I 


FRIENDS  AND  FRIENDS.  63 

envy  you !  and  Rachel  Stanwood !  and  Susy  Morton, 
and  everybody  who  has  the  chance  to  do  real  things ! 
You  will  do  it ;  you  will  .get  the  freedom  of  these 
people,  and  make  their  lives  worth  something.  But 
I  have  n't  the  power  of  the  smallest  child  among  you, 
and  there  is  nothing  I  can  do!  " 

"Oh  yes,  there  is;  yes,  there  is!"  cried  Will. 
"Your  wish  is  too  honest  for  you  not  to  do  some 
thing.  Yon  underrate  your  power.  It  is  —  you 
do  not  know  how  great.  An  honest  wish  like  that 
is  power  in  itself;  it  is  inspiration  to  others,  and 
will  make  opportunity." 

She  was  an  inspiration  to  him  now,  but  he  would 
not,  for  the  world,  have  let  her  know  it.  She 
looked  at  him  as  he  straightened  himself  and  set  his 
lips.  He  was  not  handsome,  but  every  line  of  his 
face  revealed  character.  It  was  indicative  of  re 
serve  power  to  an  extraordinary  degree.  Grace  had 
been  talking  to  him  as  if  she  had  known  him  for 
years,  as  she  had  never  talked  before  to  anybody, 
and  she  was  as  unconscious  as  if  he  had  a  right 
to  her  confidence.  There  was  something  about  him 
which  called  out  the  natural,  fearless  expression  of 
thought;  nobody  could  look  at  him  and  not  trust 
him.  His  way  of  receiving  Grace's  innocent  little 
burst  of  confidence  would  make  it  impossible  for  her 
to  regret  having  given  it  to  him.  She  looked  up  at 
him  with  a  glad  little  smile,  and  was  beginning  to 
ask  him  what  kind  of  work  there  was  for  her  to  do, 
but  the  sound  of  her  voice  made  them  notice  that 
the  room  was  growing  quiet.  Rachel  Stanwood  had 
led  the  young  Scotch  girl  to  a  place  near  them,  and 


64  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

she  was  standing  there  waiting  to  sing.  She  had  a 
good  figure,  and  was  of  medium  height,  with  a  mass 
of  wavy,  red-brown  hair  which  grew  low  on  her  fore 
head  and  was  gathered  into  a  knot  at  the  back  of 
her  head.  She  had  rather  plain  features,  restless, 
nervous,  light-gray  eyes,  and  a  mouth  which  looked 
scornful.  The  most  noticeable  thing  about  her  was 
an  appearance  of  isolation,  even  in  the  midst  of  the 
little  crowd  of  people  who  had  collected  about  her. 
She  looked  as  if  she  had  no  place  there,  but  was 
separated  and  apart  from  everybody.  Rachel  left 
her  to  go  to  the  piano  and  strike  a  chord.  The  girl 
waited  for  her  to  return  and  then,  clasping  her 
hands  together,  she  began  to  sing  "The  Last  Rose 
of  Summer."  With  the  first  notes  silence  dropped 
like  a  spell  upon  the  company. 

Pure  and  clear  the  girl's  voice  rose,  and  besides 
its  richness  there  was  that  in  its  quality  which 
struck  the  heart  of  every  listener.  It  was  untaught ; 
it  was  easy  for  any  one,  with  even  a  small  amount  of 
musical  training,  to  perceive  that  the  girl  sang  only 
as  the  birds  do,  without  method  or  studied  skill,  but 
the  people  listened  as  if  they  were  afraid  to  lose  a 
breath.  The  girl  stood,  apparently  unconscious  of 
everybody,  her  head  turned  away  from  the  general 
company.  Her  eyes,  sharp  and  intense,  looked 
strained,  as  if  she  were  trying  to  see  something  at  a 
distance.  She  sang  without  unclasping  her  hands ; 
those  near  her  could  see  that  she  was  excited,  only 
by  the  trembling  of  the  loose  folds,  and  the  shim 
mering  of  her  silk  gown.  The  song  ended  in  a  mur 
mur  of  applause  which  was  too  deeply  felt  to  be 
loud. 


FRIENDS  AND  FRIENDS.  65 

Rachel  whispered  to  the  girl,  who,  without  chang 
ing  her  position,  sang,  in  the  same  key,  "Annie 
Laurie,"  and  from  that  she  went  to  "Auld  Robin 
Grey."  As  she  went  on,  the  feeling  and  passion  of 
her  voice  seemed  to  grow  more  intense,  until,  at  the 
close  of  "Auld  Robin  Grey,"  she  passed  to  "Home, 
Sweet  Home."  The  song  was  heart-breaking  in 
its  pathos,  like  the  song  of  an  exile.  From  the 
first  note  it  was  desolate. 

The  last  note  died  and  the  girl  dropped  her  head 
upon  her  breast.  Rachel  went  to  her  and  spoke  her 
name  softly,  "Miss  MacClare!"  and  held  out  her 
hand.  The  girl  grasped  Rachel's  hand  in  both  of 
her  own  and  held  it.  People  began  to  press  around 
her ;  everybody  wanted  to  get  a  sight  of  her.  Ra 
chel  felt  her  trembling  all  over  and  thought  she  was 
frightened. 

"Look  up,  Miss  MacClare,"  she  said  kindly,  try 
ing  to  reassure  her;  "your  singing  was  beautiful, 
and  everybody  wants  to  tell  you  so." 

Miss  MacClare  lifted  her  head  with  a  gesture  that 
was  almost  defiant.  Her  eyes  lighted  upon  Mrs. 
Riverston,  whose  face  loomed  up  above  the  others 
around  her.  Miss  MacClare  flashed  a  quick,  angry 
glance  at  it,  then,  throwing  Rachel's  hand  from  her, 
she  ran  out  of  the  door  and  away  upstairs. 

While  general  attention  was  centred  in  a  buzz  of 
talk  about  the  Scotch  girl,  her  wonderful  singing 
and  strange  disappearance,  Mrs.  Riverston  seized 
the  opportunity  to  draw  Mrs.  Stanwood  to  a  seat 
upon  a  little  sofa  across  a  corner  of  the  front  room. 

"I  shall  be  so  glad  to  have  your  advice  concern- 


GG  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

ing  my  interesting  young  protegee,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Stanwood,"  she  said,  confidentially.  "What  can 
be  done  for  her?  Your  daughter  thought  that  her 
voice  ought  to  be  cultivated.  There  is  no  question 
that  she  is  right  about  it,  and  I  am  sure  everybody 
here,  after  hearing  her  sing,  would  agree  with  her. 
If  you  could  only  suggest  something!  I  consider 
your  advice  more  valuable  than  that  of  any  other 
person,  I  assure  you." 

"About  music?"  asked  Mrs.  Stanwood  dryly. 

"Oh  no,  of  course,  I  did  not  mean  as  to  her 
musical  education,"  said  Mrs.  Kiverston,  laughing 
behind  her  fan.  "Your  daughter  has  promised  to 
consult  some  musician  about  that,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  he  will  undertake  to  put  it  through.  But  I 
want  your  advice  as  to  the  —  the  disposal  of  Miss 
MacClare.  I  have  really  done  all  that  I  am  able  to 
in  that  direction,  and  must  have  her,  in  some  way, 
taken  off  my  hands.  You  see,  it  is  quite  impossible 
for  me  to  keep  her  any  longer,  with  my  family  and 
large  number  of  servants.  I  want  your  advice  as 
to  where  she  should  be  sent.  Would  not  some  of 
these  people  who  have  just  heard  her,  have  some 
place  to  propose?  That  is  why  I  urged  you  to  allow 
her  to  sing  this  evening,  —  I  was  so  sure  they  would 
be  delighted,  and  I  thought  some  of  them  would 
surely  be  interested  in  befriending  her.  You  are 
so  practical,  my  dear  friend,  that  I  know  your  ad 
vice  will  be  most  valuable.  Indeed,  to  obtain  it 
was  my  principal  object  in  coining  this  evening;  for 
I  must  act  upon  it,  I  must,  indeed.  You  see," 
drawing  nearer  to  Mrs.  Stanwood,  to  be  very  confi- 


FltlENDS  AND  FRIENDS.  67 

dential,  and  touching  that  lady's  folded  hands  with 
the  tip  of  her  closed  fan,  "you  see,  my  servants  are 
unwilling-  to  wait  upon  her,  —  her  meals,  you  know, 
have  to  be  carried  upstairs,  as,  of  course,  we  cannot 
have  her  at  our  table,  —  they  are  unwilling  to  wait 
upon  her,  and  I  cannot  ask  them  to  do  it.  We  are 
bound  to  protect  those  whom  we  employ  from  in 
justice  and  imposition.  I  do  not  feel  that  I  have 
a  right  to  impose  upon  anybody  under  my  roof, 
Mrs.  Stan  wood." 

Mrs.  Kiverston's  talk  came  in  like  the  tide,  in  low, 
gentle,  incessant  successions  of  waves.  Once  in  a 
while,  with  the  tenth  wave  perhaps,  it  worked  up  to 
a  more  excited  pitch,  and  once  in  a  good  while, 
when  a  thought  was  exhausted,  a  wave  broke  over 
it  and,  receding,  gave  the  listener  a  chance  for  re 
sponse.  It  was  necessary  to  be  deft,  to  avail  one's 
self  of  the  opportunity. 

Mrs.  Eiverston  felt  that  she  was  on  a  high  plane 
of  thought  just  now,  and  one  which  Mrs.  Stanwood 
would  appreciate.  She  repeated  it,  "I  never  allow 
anybody,  who  is  under  my  roof  and  my  protection, 
to  be  imposed  upon !  " 

A  wave  was  receding  and  Mrs.  Stanwood  asked, 
"Then  thee  has  not  considered  this  girl  as  under  thy 
protection  ?  Or  is  she  the  one  who  does  the  impos 
ing?" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Stanwood!"  Mrs.  Riverston  ex 
claimed,  sending  a  tenth  wave  over  the  little  lady. 
"You  understand  the  situation  perfectly,  as  I  knew 
you  would.  I  have  been  most  frightfully  imposed 
upon  by  her.  I  have  given  her  two  silk  dresses, 


t>8  HAVIIKL  8TANWOOH. 

two  bonnetSt  and  several  thinffs  which  my  daughter 

**  »  «~* 

had  finished  with,  ami  I  have  had  my  own  maid  alter 
ami  li\  them  up,  and  do  so  much  to  them  that  she 
has  given  me  notice  (hat  she  will  leave,  when  her 
month  is  up,  if  Miss  Mat'Clare  remains.  Why! 
von  cannot  possibly  estimate  what  1  have  done,  for 
her.  Think  of  the  opportunity,  Mrs.  Stanwood! 
The  opportunity  afforded  her  by  being  under  my 
roof  (Mrs.  Hi  version  thought  a  great  deal  of  her 
roof),  and  of  being  allowed  to  make  a  genuine  sensa 
tion  at  tho  most  costly  entertainment  which  1  have 
given  in  a  year!  Of  course,  she  did  not  mix  with 
tho  company,  as  you  wanted  her  to  do  this  evening. 
It  wonld  not  have  done.  That  reception  was  on  the 
occasion  of  my  son's  coming  of  age,  but  this  even 
ing  is  somewhat  —  most  charming!  most  delightful! 
but  ditVerent,  is  it  not,  Mrs.  Stanwood?" 

There  was  a  pause,  but  Mrs.  Stanwood  allowed 
the  wave,  this  time,  to  break  on  the  sandy  shore  of 
Mrs.  Ri version's  own  mind. 

lu  a  moment  that  lady  went  on,  "Ami  now  1 
have  given  her  this  opportunity  of  singing  in  your 
parlor,  and  1  feel  as  if,  in  justice  to  myself,  it  ought 
to  end  Aw».  Ho  yon  not  think  so?  And  do  you 
not  think  the  girl's  own  good,  —  1  feel  conscientious 
about  that, — $Jw  must  be  thought  of"  Mrs. 
Kivorston  did  not  observe  Mrs.  Stan  wood's  lifted 
eyebrows  or  hoar  her  give  a  significant  long  sigh  of 
which  that  quiet  lady  was  herself  unconscious. 

"Do  yon  not  think,"  Mrs.  Kivorston  continued, 
"it  would  bo  cruel  to  allow  the  girl  to  go  on  in  this 
way?" 


/<'/»' 7A,W/>.S  AND   WtlKNDS.  <>!) 

Mrs.  Stauwood  took  advantage  of  this  receding 
wave  and  said  boldly,  "Yes,  I  do." 

"Thank  you  .so  much!"  Mrs.  Riverston  ex 
claimed,  rising  to  intimate  that  she  considered  the 
conversation  at  an  end.  "You  are  .so  kind!  Then 
I  shall  dismiss  the  girl  to-morrow,  and  send  her  1<> 
you  for  advice.  It  is  time  for  us  to  go.  1  see  my 
young  people  waiting  for  me.  1  wonder  where  Miss 
MacClare  is!  Will  you  he  so  very  kind,  Mrs. 
Stanwood,  as  to  ask  one  of  your  servants  to  tell  her 
to  follow  me  to  the  dressing-room?  Thank  you! 
And  your  daughter, — will  you  say  good-night  to 
her  for  me?  1  am  so  vert/  grateful  to  you,  —  I 
knew  you  would  help  me.  Here  is  my  husband  to 
Hay  good-night  also.  My  dear"  —turning  to  a  tall, 
jovial-looking  gentleman  with  bushy  gray  Knglish 
whiskers,  who  was  laughing  and  showing  superb 
teeth  as  he  listened  to  something  which  Mr.  Stan- 
wood  was  saying  to  him.  lie  turned  in  answer  to 
his  wife,  who  went  on  vigorously,  "My  dear,  Mrs. 
Stanwood  has  been  advising  me  in  regard  to  Miss 
MaeClare.  She  thinks  as  1  do,  and  I  am  to  send 
the  girl  to  her  to-morrow.  (Yoor/-evcning,  Mr. 
Stanwood!  You  and  your  wife  have;  given  us  a, 
most  delightful  occasion ! "  And,  with  a,  rather 
peremptory  "Come,  Frederick!"  aside:  to  her  hus 
band,  and  a  stately  bend,  adapted  for  society,  to 
her  host  and  hostess,  Mrs.  Uiverston  sailed  out  of 
Ihe  room.  Mrs.  Stanwood  turned  her  face  toward 
her  husband,  gave  vent  to  a  sort  of  blank  sigh,  and 
remarked,  "What  I  >iic<nit  was  thai  her  treatment 
of  the  girl  was  a  piece  of  cruelty!  But  there  was 
no  time  for  any  more. 


70  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

The  company  was  breaking  up  and  the  next  half 
hour  was  devoted  to  saying  good-bys,  interspersed 
with  snatches  of  conversations  on  the  subject  of  the 
business  which  had  been  prominent  in  the  early  part 
of  the  evening.  The  last  person  to  go  was  Mr. 
Garrison,  for  whose  departure  the  children  had  been 
peeping  over  the  banisters.  They  had  gone  to  bed 
long  ago,  but  had  been  kept  awake  by  the  unusual 
noise  and  excitement  in  the  house.  Now  they  came 
pattering  downstairs,  barefooted,  and  in  their  night 
gowns,  to  kiss  Mr.  Garrison  good-by.  He  was  de 
lighted,  and  after  a  very  small  frolic,  he  leaned 
over  the  banisters,  put  a  hand  upon  each  of  their 
heads,  and  said,  "Good,  solid  heads,  with  healthy 
brains  inside !  Nobody  knows,  children,  the  think 
ing  stowed  away  in  them,  or  how  much  they  are 
destined  to  help  the  world." 

Elizabeth  and  Richard  ran  upstairs  laughing,  but 
with  no  idea  of  what  Mr.  Garrison  meant.  They 
never  suspected  that  their  father  had  told  him  how 
they  had  kept  guard,  that  morning  in  the  garden,  of 
the  entrance  to  the  underground  railroad. 

The  house  was  all  quiet  and  Mr.  Stan  wood  was 
beginning  to  put  out  the  lights  in  the  parlors,  when 
Rachel  appeared,  saying  in  distress,  — 

"Do  come  to  that  Scotch  girl,  mother!  I  found 
her  in  the  attic,  and  she  's  in  hysterics!  " 


CHAPTER   III. 

"  HAW  YET    WILSON. " 

HAVILAH  MOORE,  with  her  little  girl  Diana,  and 
Harriet  Wilson,  had  escaped  together  from  the 
same  master.  They  had  passed  for  a  lady  traveling 
with  her  child  and  servant,  Havilah  and  Diana  be 
ing  almost  white  and  Harriet  very  dark.  Their 
escape  had  been  bold  and  easy.  They  had  been  in 
New  York  about  a  fortnight  at  the  time  when  their 
master  had  so  nearly  captured  Harriet.  Soon  after 
that  occurrence,  it  being  ascertained  that  he  had, 
temporarily  at  least,  abandoned  his  search  as  fruit 
less  and  returned  to  the  South,  Havilah  and  the 
child  had  been  conveyed  to  Mr.  Stan  wood's,  to  re 
main  there  until  a  safer  refuge  could  be  found. 
Havilah  was  of  a  morose  disposition,  nervous  and 
inclined  to  melancholy.  Her  experiences  as  a  slave 
had  made  her  bitter.  By  herself,  she  might  either 
have  settled  into  a  condition  of  hopeless  submission, 
or  have  put  an  end  to  her  life;  but  she  lived  for 
Diana.  The  discovery  that  Diana  was  to  be  sold 
had  inspired  her  with  the  determination  to  escape 
with  her  from  slavery,  and  now  she  had  but  one 
hope, — to  secure  freedom  for  her  child.  Until 
that  was  accomplished  and  Diana  free  from  the 
danger  of  being  carried  again  into  slavery,  Havilah 


72  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

could  not  feel  any  sense  of  joy.  There  was  no 
happiness  for  her  in  liberty  which  might  end  any 
day.  Her  master  was  a  cruel  one;  and  she  was 
haunted  by  the  fear  of  her  child  being  doomed  to 
suffer  as  she  had  suffered  since  his  purchase  of  her. 
She  still  dreamed  of  the  baying  of  hounds,  and, 
what  was  worse  to  her,  the  voice  of  the  overseer. 
Even  in  the  Stan  woods'  attic,  her  sleep  was  like 
that  of  a  hunted  deer. 

Just  before  daybreak,  on  the  morning  after  the 
party,  she  awoke  with  a  start,  sprang  to  her  feet, 
and  stood  trembling  from  head  to  foot  in  an  agony 
of  terror.  A  slight  noise  in  the  next  room  had  been 
exaggerated  in  her  dreams,  and  she  thought  Diana 
was  in  the  arms  of  her  master,  being  carried  away. 
She  felt  in  the  dark  and  touched  the  child,  who  was 
sleeping  soundly. 

"Fo'  de  Lawd's  sake,  w'at 's  de  matteh,  Hab- 
lah?"  asked  Harriet,  who  had  been  awakened. 
When  Havilah  explained,  Harriet  laughed  outright, 
burying  her  face  in  the  bedclothes  to  smother  the 
sound. 

"Ef  yo'  ain't  de  bigges'  kin'  of  a  scah-crow  in  de 
hull  Norf!"  she  whispered.  "Lay  down  agin  an' 
take  yo'  res'.  I  'm  gwine  to  git  up  an'  'joy  m'se'f, 
an'  ef  Massa  S'dan  sen'  anybody  to  'quire  fer  yo', 
I  '11  brung  up  der  cyards.  So  yo'  an'  Di  ken  sleep 
wid  yo'  min's  quiet." 

Havilah  lay  down  again  beside  the  child.  "I  'm 
right  sorry  I  wakened  yo',  Harriet,"  she  said. 

"Sh!  Sh!"  said  Harriet,  striking  a  light. 
uDoan  yo'  say  'Hawyet'  no  mo';  yo 's  got  to  lun 


"UAWYET  WILSON."  73 

to  call  me  'Delphiny, ' — dat  's  my  name  now.  Ef 
Massa  S'dan  sen'  fo'  me,  I  ain't  a-gwine  to  be  yer! 
I  ain't  no  'Hawyet'  no  mo'!  I'm  Delphiny  K. 
Simpson! " 

" Delphina,  then,"  said  Havilah.  "  What  are  yo' 
getting  up  for?" 

"To  'joy  m'se'f, — I  done  tol'  yo  dat.  Yo'  go 
sleep,"  said  the  girl,  busy  dressing  herself.  In  a 
few  minutes  she  was  on  her  way  downstairs,  tread 
ing  cautiously  on  the  sides  of  the  steps  to  keep  them 
from  creaking. 

Harriet  was  the  reverse  of  Havilah  in  every  re 
spect.  Her  temperament  was  as  cheerful  as  Havi- 
lah's  was  sombre.  She  had  been  cruelly  treated, 
but  her  sufferings  seemed  to  have  left  few  traces. 
Perhaps  it  was  because  they  had  been  principally 
physical  and  were  easiest  forgotten.  She  had  no 
family  that  she  was  aware  of,  and  it  was  from  no 
dread  of  separation  from  any  one  dear  to  her  that 
she  had  run  away;  she  had  longed  for  liberty  for 
liberty's  sake,  that  was  all.  Her  very  method  of 
obtaining  it  had  been  characteristic  of  her  happy, 
careless  disposition.  She  had  boldly  announced  to 
her  master  that  she  intended  to  run  away  from  him, 
advised  him  to  watch  her  closely,  if  he  wanted  to 
keep  her,  and  had  followed  him  up  so  persistently 
with  assertions  that  she  was  going  to  be  free,  and 
warnings  of  how  to  prevent  her,  that  he  ceased  to 
listen  to  her  and  believed  she  was  only  jesting. 
When,  therefore,  Havilah  suggested  to  her  the  plan 
she  had  contrived  for  their  escape,  the  girl  had  so 
thrown  her  master  off  guard  that  their  way  was  com- 


74  EACH  EL  STAN  WOOD. 

paratively  easy.  She  now  looked  upon  her  free 
dom  as  secure,  and  her  joy  in  its  possession  was 
irrepressible.  That  it  was  precarious,  nothing  would 
convince  her.  Her  recent  peril,  instead  of  alarming, 
reassured  her.  Her  master  had  tried  to  catch  her, 
and,  within  arm's  reach  of  her,  had  failed.  That  only 
proved  his  stupidity.  He  was  not  clever  enough  to 
catch  her,  and  that  was  all  there  was  about  it.  She 
was  free  and  was  going  to  stay  free,  and  the  joy  of 
feeling  her  liberty  was  intoxicating.  She  was  glad 
to  be  awakened  just  to  be  reminded  of  it. 

Reaching  the  basement,  she  set  clown  her  candle 
and  shoes  —  she  wore  shoes  and  stockings  only  when 
obliged  to,  going  barefoot  whenever  she  was  out  of 
sight  of  Mrs.  Stan  wood  and  Rachel,  —  and  proceeded 
to  unfasten  the  door  and  windows  which  opened  from 
the  kitchen  into  the  garden.  The  first  sniff  of  morn 
ing  air  seemed  to  act  like  wine  upon  her.  She  darted 
out  to  the  grass  plot  and  swung  lightly,  two  or  three 
times,  around  one  of  the  clothes  posts.  She  tried 
each  of  the  other  three  in  like  manner  and  then 
stopped  to  take  breath.  The  whistle  of  an  engine 
rang  out  into  the  stillness,  and  an  early  train  of  cars 
rushed  and  hooted  along  Tenth  Avenue. 

"Massy  sakes,  g'long!"  Harriet  exclaimed, 
watching  the  white  smoke  roll  against  the  darkness 
and  disappear.  "Yo '11  wake  de  dead  afo'  de  day 
o'  Judgment!  "  She  held  on  to  the  post  while  she 
stretched  back  to  watch  a  second  cloud  of  smoke 
from  the  retreating  engine.  "G'long  fas'  ez  light- 
nin',  ef  yo'  wants  to!  "  she  said,  as  another  whistle 
sounded  in  the  distance.  "/  ain't  aboard,  gwine 


"HAWYET   WILSON."  75 

souf!  /'sail  right.  It  's  him  dat  got  on  de  wrong 
side  ob  de  fence!  An'  he  might  's  well  gib  it  up, 
coze  he  ain't  gwine  to  cotch  me.  I 's  clean  gone,  an' 
he  kin  trabel,  but  he  won't  fin'  Hawyet  Wilson.  I 
airit  Hawyet  Wilson  no  mo',  an'  he  ain't  yeard  ob 
Miss  Delphiny  K.  Simpson  nebber.  Massa  S'dan, 
Squah,  ain't  smart  'nough  to  fin'  dat  pusson.  How 
ken  he  fin'  me  when  I  ain't  m'se'f  ?  I  'd  like  to 
know  dat."  She  went  into  the  kitchen  delighted  at 
this  idea.  It  amused  her  beyond  everything,  and 
she  steadied  herself  by  the  table  while  she  shook 
with  noiseless  laughter.  "He  kin  come  yer  agin 
ef  he  likes,"  she  went  on,  talking  to  herself.  "Oh 
ya-as!  An'  he  '11  ast  fo'  Hawyet  Wilson  an'  ebery- 
buddy  '11  tell  him  dey  ain't  no  pusson  ob  dat  name 
iiowhah — an'  all  de  time  dere  '11  be  Delphiny  K. 
Simpson  down  dah,  on  de  right  side  ob  de  fence!  " 

She  laughed  until  her  fun  was  exhausted  and  then, 
set  herself  to  thinking  of  something  to  do.  Her  en 
ergy  kept  pace  with  her  happiness,  and  she  was  al 
ways  ready  for  action.  "Now  Delphiny,  w'at  she 
gwine  to  do?  "  she  asked.  It  did  not  take  her  half  a 
minute  to  decide.  " I  know ;  de  Gran'  P'rade !  Miss 
Stan'd  she  said  it  mus'  git  washed."  She  went  to 
work  vigorously,  turned  the  front  of  her  skirt  up  and 
pinned  it  behind  her,  selected  the  best  broom  in  the 
closet,  laid  it  on  the  table,  and,  after  unfastening 
the  front  basement  door,  filled  two  pails  with  water. 

She  carried  them,  one  balanced  on  her  head,  out 
to  the  sidewalk,  set  them  down  and  stood  for  a  few 
moments  with  her  hands  on  her  hips,  taking  a  sur 
vey  of  the  street.  She  watched  an  early  milk  wagon 


76  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

go  by,  and  then  looked  up  at  the  windows  of  the 
houses.  There  was  a  light  in  an  upper  window  of 
one.  "Wat  yo'  doin'  up  dis  time  o'  night?"  she 
said,  looking  at  it.  "  Yo'  better  go  to  bade  agin, 
I  don'  want  nobody  gittin'  up  to  spy  rouii'  an'  see 
me  washin'  de  "  She  suddenly  doubled  herself 

up  and  went  off  into  a  fit  of  suppressed  laughter. 
" Golly!"  she  said,  in  a  minute,  and  laughed  again 
immoderately.  Something  had  suggested  itself  to 
her  which  pleased  her  mightily.  Mrs.  Stanwood 
had  told  her  to  wash  the  sidewalk  before  breakfast; 
while  all  the  people  were  asleep  in  their  houses  she 
decided  she  would  wash  all  six  sidewalks  !  It  was 
such  fun  to  be  free  ! 

Delphina  —  as  she  is  going  to  insist  upon  it,  we 
will  call  her  so  hereafter  —  Delphina  was  delighted 
with  her  inspiration  and  set  to  work.  She  spent 
the  next  hour  in  sloshing,  dousing,  and  sweeping, 
running  back  and  forth  with  her  pails  and  fresh 
supplies  of  water,  getting  wetter  as  she  went  along 
and  enjoying  herself  as  much  as  if  it  were  all  a 
frolic.  It  was  too  early  for  anybody  to  be  about, 
and  Delphina  was  in  her  glory,  making  the  water 
fly,  and  gradually  reducing  the  broom  to  a  wreck. 

She  washed  all  six  sidewalks  and  it  was  five 
o'clock  when  her  task  was  finished  and  she  returned 
to  the  kitchen. 

"Who's  dah?"  she  said,  stopping  in  the  door 
way,  a  little  startled  to  see  a  strange  figure  standing 
by  the  window. 

"It 's  I,  — Tibbie  MacClare,"  answered  the  girl, 
herself  startled  by  the  blackness  and  weird  appear 
ance  of  Delphina. 


"HAWYET   WILSON."  77 

"Who's  yo'?  Whar  yo'  come  from?  W'at's 
yo'  arter,  an'  whar  yo'  gwine  to?  "  Delphina  said  to 
herself,  while  she  put  away  the  pails  and  broom, 
taking  in,  as  she  did  so,  the  items  of  Miss  Mac- 
Clare's  personal  appearance. 

"Hm!  Seen  Miss  Kaychel  in  dat  frock  more  'n 
wunst!  "  she  thought. 

Miss  MacClare  moved  toward  the  stove.  There 
was  something  in  her  appearance  which  excited  pity. 
"Is  yo'  col'?"  Delphina  asked,  and,  without  wait 
ing  for  an  answer,  went  on,  "Yo'  looks  col',  miss. 
Come  sit  yer,"  drawing  a  chair  to  one  corner  of  the 
hearth.  "Sit  yer,  an'  I  '11  bull'  yo'  up  a  fah  in  no 
time.  Aunt  Peggy,  she  leabs  it  all  ready  to  light, 
so  yo'  won'  be  col'  more  'n  a  minute."  Delphina 
lit  the  fire  and  knelt  on  the  hearth,  peering  through 
the  grating  at  the  red  sparks. 

"Thank  you,  I'm  nae  cold,"  said  Tibbie  ab 
sently,  and  indifferent  to  physical  discomfort.  She 
sat  down  on  the  chair  Delphina  had  placed  for  her, 
and  let  her  hands  drop  in  her  lap. 

"Hm!     Yo'  looks  beat  out,"  said  Delphina. 

"I  am!"  exclaimed  the  girl,  rubbing  her  hands 
nervously  over  each  other.  "I  'm  beaten  about  by 
everybody,  —  I  want  to  be  left  alone !  "  She  spoke 
in  an  angry  tone  and  her  face  clouded  into  an  al 
most  vindictive  scowl. 

"Who's  been  'busin'  yo' ?  Whoebber  dey  is, 
yo'  's  clar  ob  'em  yer.  Did  'n'  know  white  folks 
was  afeerd  ob  bein'  took.  Yo'  's  ez  bad  as  Hab- 
lah!  Is  yo'  afeerd  o'  bein'  took  by  anybody?" 

"Indeed  no!  "  exclaimed  Tibbie.      "I  will  never 


78  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

go  near  any  of  them  any  more,  nor  put  a  foot  inside 
of  one  of  their  grand  houses !  If  they  come  for  me, 
I  '11  open  the  door  for  them  and  point  to  it  and  bid 
them  got" 

She  made  a  gesture  of  command  as  she  spoke. 
Delphina,  still  kneeling  on  the  hearth,  opened  her 
"big  eyes  at  Tibbie  and  dropped  her  lower  jaw. 

"Lawd  o'  massy!"  she  exclaimed  in  consterna 
tion.  "Ef  yo'  ken  do  dat,  w'at  mo'  yp'  want? 
Do  yo'  want  to  know  w'at  I  'd  hev  to  do,  an'  Hab- 
lah,  an'  Di,  ef  de  pusson  w'at 's  got  de  right  come 
for  us  ?  Yo'  know  Hablah  ?  " 

"No;  who  is  she?"  answered  Tibbie,  sulkily. 

" She's  a  lady  up  stahs  wid  her  lill  gell  Di. 
Ya-as  she  is,"  Delphina  insisted,  as  if  Miss  Mac- 
Clare  disputed  her  statement.  "Ya-as  she  is. 
She  's  a  lady  as  much  as  you  are,  on'y  handsomer, 
—  heaps.  Wa-all,  ef  dat  man  I  tol'  yo'  'bout  come 
yer,  dey  would  n't  be  no'  p'intin'  at  de  do'  for 
Hablah  an'  de  chile  an'  me !  He  'd  be  de  one  to 
p'int,  an'  we  'd  hev  to  go  de  way  he  p'inted.  An' 
do  yo'  want  to  know  whah  he  'd  p'int?" 

"Where?"  asked  Tibbie,  interested. 

Delphina  rose  on  her  knees  and  pointed,  saying, 
"He'd  p'int  to  de  Sou/!  He'd  p'int  to  a  place 
whah  he  's  got  men  to  beat  us  mos'  to  de'f,  an' 
dogs  to  tear  us  to  pieces,  and  " 

"Oh,  hush!  What  is  it  you're  telling  me?" 
cried  Tibbie,  horrified. 

"Ya-as,  he  's  got  'em  all,  an'  mo',  too!"  shouted 
Delphina,  feeling  entirely  secure  from  the  dreadful 
possibilities,  but  wishing  to  impress  Tibbie.  "Dey 


"HAWYET  WILSON."  79 

ain't  nuffin  w'at  he  can't  do,  ef  he  takes  cle  notion; 
but  dose  folks  o'  yourn  can't  do  nuffin  't  all. 
Dey  's  got  to  clar  de  tracks  an'  git  outen  de  road, 
when  yo'  tells  'em  to  quit.  Yo  's  got  yo'self  an' 
yo'  's  got  de  folks  up  stahs  to  keep,  dat  's  what 
yo'  's  got!  We  's  got  to  leab  'em  an'  go  clean  off 
to  Canada,  but  yo'  ken  stay  yer  'mongst  'em,  an' 
ef  yo'  loses  'em  it  '11  be  yo'  own  fault,  jes'  like  yo' 
f rowed  'em  out  vvid  de  rubbige!  An'  ef  yo'  ebber 
do  dat'''  -Delphina  pointed  her  finger  ominously 
at  Tibbie,  —  "ef  yo'  does  dat,  Ole  Satan  hisself  '11 
stir  de  fah  fo'  yo'  dat  time,  an'  he  '11  warm  yo' 
up!" 

"Hawyet,  yo  'd  better  leave  dat  gen'leman  to 
'tend  to  his  furnace  himself,  an'  fin'  stimp'm  else 
to  talk  'bout,"  said  a  middle-aged  colored  woman 
coming  in  at  the  door. 

"An'  I  wish  you'd  frow  sump'm  ahead  in  yo' 
pahf,  so  we  'd  know  yo'  was  comin'  I  "  said  Harriet, 
who  had  sprung  to  her  feet  startled.  "I  was  on'y 
jes'  tellin'  dis  yer  lady  "  — 

"Well,  now,  now!  "  said  Aunt  Peggy,  coming  to 
look  into  the  tea-kettle.  "Dis  yer  lady  an'  me  's 
'quainted.  Ef  you  'd  'a'  filled  de  kettle  when  you 
lit  de  fire,  chile,  'stead  o'  leabin'  its  bones  to  rattle, 
you  'd  'a'  been  smarter,  an'  I  'd  'a'  been  ready 
sooner  to  gib  de  company  a  cup  o'  hot  coffee. 
But  no  matter;  you  kin 'led  de  fire,  an'  dat  's  one 
t'ing.  I  reck'n  by  yo'  petticuts  you  's  washed  de 
sidewalk,  too;  take  off  dat  outside  skut  an'  hang  it 
in  de  yard  to  dry,  an'  den  sweep  de  dead  leaves  in 
de  garden  pahfs,  dat 's  a  good  chile." 


80  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

Aunt  Peggy  took  the  kitchen  reins  in  her  own 
hands  now,  and  set  about  to  prepare  an  early  break 
fast  for  Miss  MacClare,  whose  acquaintance  she  had 
made  in  conjunction  with  her  hysterics  the  night  be 
fore. 

Whatever  Miss  MacClare' s  wrongs  might  be,  she 
was  getting  disciplined  this  morning.  Aunt  Peggy, 
finding  that  even  the  hot  coffee  and  all  the  advice 
which  she  poured  out  upon  the  girl  failed  to  affect 
the  bitterness  of  her  mood,  finally  went  to  a  drawer 
in  the  dresser  and  took  from  it  a  Bible.  "Dah!  "  she 
said,  handing  it  to  Tibbie.  "Tu'n  to  de  twenty- 
eighth  chapter  ob  Dutyrounme  an'  read  ebery  wud, 
from  de  fust  verse  to  de  las'  one;  den  yo  '11  feel 
better!" 


CHAPTER   IV. 

MISS   MACCLAKE    BEGINS   A   NEW   CAREER. 

A  FEW  hours  later  Mrs.  Stan  wood,  in  the  little 
room  next  to  the  back  parlor,  was  washing  the 
breakfast  things  while  Rachel  wiped  and  put  them 
away. 

"Not  too  fast,  Rachel;  thee  will  nick  the  cups. 
Take  things  quietly,"  she  said,  as  Rachel,  making 
most  progress  in  her  part  of  the  labor,  washed  some 
cups  under  the  faucet  at  the  sink. 

"Quietly!"  said  Rachel.  "With  to-day's  cam 
paign  before  us!*  What  are  we  to  do  with  her, 
mother?  If  the  Riverstons  had  only  waited  until 
we  had  settled  some  of  the  others !  There  's  a  house 
ful  on  our  hands  now,  and  I  don't  see  how  we  are 
going  to  dispose  of  them  all." 

"Oh,  it  won't  be  so  difficult,"  said  her  mother. 
"Take  time  to  think  and  thee  will  accomplish  more. 
We  have  no  company  to  take  care  of,  and  can  give 
all  our  attention  to  the  unfortunates." 

"Well,  I  hope  there  will  be  no  more  arrivals  at 
present,"  said  Rachel,  standing  on  tiptoe  to  put 
some  things  on  a  high  shelf  in  the  glass  cupboard. 
"And  I  wish  Miss  Bremer  had  stayed  here  instead 
of  going  to  the  Mortons,  for  it  will  take  genius  to 
know  what  to  do  with  Miss  MacClare." 


82  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

"Oh,  no,  child,"  said  her  mother.  "Thee  is 
making  a  mountain  out  of  a  mole-hill." 

"A  mountain!  /  call  her  a  volcano!  Thee 
was  n't  upstairs  when  she  was  stamping  on  her 
gown  because  it  was  made  out  of  one  of  Miss  River- 
ston's! "  said  Rachel. 

"Well,  it  can  be  pressed  out,"  said  Mrs.  Stan- 
wood. 

"  She  '11  never  touch  it  again,"  said  Rachel. 
"What 's  she  got  on  this  morning?" 

"  Thy  brown  gingham ;  she  was  delighted  to  make 
the  exchange,"  said  Mrs.  Stan  wood. 

"Thee  needn't  call  it  that,  even  in  fun,  mother!  " 
exclaimed  Rachel  impatiently.  "Mrs.  Riverston 
and  her  daughter  would  give  me  their  old  clothes, 
though,  if  they  dared." 

"Nonsense!  Fiddlesticks!"  said  her  mother 
laughing.  "Thee  ought  to  have  been  named  'Mar 
tha,'  thee  takes  so  many  cares." 

"It's  the  cares  that  take  me,  mother,"  said  Ra 
chel.  "There's  the  doorbell, — I  hope  it  isn't  a 
fresh  avalanche !  We  're  having  a  perfect  earth 
quake  of  them  just  now!  " 

"It  will  soon  quiet  down,  child,  don't  worry. 
Thee  will  see  Mr.  Kreutsohn  to-day,  and  arrange 
for  him  to  hear  Tibbie  —  that  is  her  name  —  sing. 
He  will  set  her  to  work  at  her  music,  and  that  will 
make  a  different  creature  of  her.  Here!  come 
back,  Harriet!"  intercepting  the  girl  in  the  entry, 
who  was  hurrying  to  answer  the  doorbell. 

"  How  often  have  I  told  thee,  Harriet,  never  to  go 
to  either  door?"  she  asked,  with  some  annoyance. 


MISS  MACCLAHE  BEGINS  A  NEW  CAEEEE.    83 

The  girl  sniggered,  showing  all  her  teeth,  and 
said,  "Yo'  ain't  nebber  tol'  dat  to  Dd-pkiny  K. 
Simpson,  missus!" 

Mrs.  Stanwood  tried  to  look  serious,  and  made 
a  failure  of  it.  She  repeated  the  order,  using  the 
girl's  new  name,  and  sent  her  downstairs  again. 

"She'll  walk  into  her  master's  clutches,  yet!" 
she  remarked,  returning  to  the  china  closet.  The 
door  between  the  closet  and  the  entry  slid  open  and 
Susy  Morton's  fresh  face  appeared. 

"Good-morning,  Aunt  Debby !  "  she  said,  kissing 
her  cheek.  Susy  and  Rachel  exchanged  smiles. 

"I  '11  take  thy  place,  Aunt  Debby.  I  know  thee 
has  something  else  to  do,"  said  Susy,  taking  off  her 
gloves.  She  was  evidently  familiar  with  the  house 
and  its  ways,  for  she  helped  herself  to  a  clean  apron 
from  one  of  the  drawers,  tied  it  around  her,  and 
with  another  kiss  on  Mrs.  Stanwood 's  cheek,  gently 
ousted  her  from  her  position.  "Let  me,"  she  said. 
"I  do  love  to  wash  dishes  in  this  house;  you  always 
have  such  boiling  hot  water  and  so  many  spandy 
clean  towels." 

"Very  well,  then  I  will  have  a  little  talk  with 
Tibbie,  and  write  to  Mrs.  Riverston,"  said  Mrs. 
Stanwood.  "When  you  are  through  here,  Rachel, 
thee  get  the  children  ready  to  carry  my  note." 

Susy  was  full  of  interest  in  the  appearance  of  the 
Desborough  and  Riverston  families  at  the  party  on 
the  previous  evening.  After  a  few  comments  on 
the  success  of  the  occasion,  Susy  said,  "From  what 
Will  said,  I  should  think  that  Grace  really  waked 
up.  She  is  so  quiet  that  it  is  hard  to  imagine  it, 


84  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

but  Will  can  wake  up  anybody.  He  says  she  is,  if 
not  an  out-and-out  abolitionist,  next  door  to  one. 
He  thinks  she  does  not  seem  very  happy,  and  that 
she  has  the  look  of  a  person  who  is  pining  for  some 
thing.  Does  thee  think  so,  Kay?" 

"Poor  Grace!  "  said  Eachel.  "It 's  easy  enough 
to  see  that  she  hasn't  something  she  wants.  I  wish 
they  'd  let  her  go  into  the  fair  business  with  us ! 
It  would  do  her  lots  of  good  just  to  work  and  get 
tired  out  with  all  the  rest  of  us.  I  think  she  's 
suffering:  for  a  will  of  her  own.  She  never  does 

O 

anything  except  what  her  mother  plans  to  have  her, 
and,  if  she  could  have  a  few  good  times  of  the  kind 
she  wants,  I  believe  she  'd  wake  up  and  stay  so." 

"Why  won't  they  let  her  come  into  the  fair 
work  with  us?"  asked  Susy. 

"  Oh,  law !  Thee  would  n't  ask  if  thee  had  seen 
as  much  of  the  mother  as  I  have,  or  talked  to  the 
brother  as  long  as  I  did  last  night,"  said  Rachel. 
"There!"  putting  away  the  last  cups,  "now  the 
salts,  and  that  will  be  all."  She  emptied  the  salt 
cellars  and  they  went  at  the  pretty  work  of  wash 
ing,  refilling,  and  stamping  them  with  the  star  on 
the  bottom  of  a  wine  glass. 

"He  's  a  high  and  mighty  one,  is  my  Lord 
Duke!"  Susy  remarked.  "Mattie  and  I  decided 
that  he  wasn't  getting  what  he  wanted  while  thee 
had  him.  Mother  says  he  's  chairman  of  the  deco 
ration  committee ;  think  he  '11  be  here  on  Third-day 
evening?" 

"I  don't  know  and  don't  care,"  answered  Rachel. 
"First  I  thought  he  was  a  hopeless  case,  and  then, 


MISS  MAC  CLARE  BEGINS  A  NEW  CAREER.      85 

for  a  minute,  that  he  'd  been  'born  again,'  but  I 
think,  by  to-day,  he  must  be  in  sackcloth  and  ashes 
because  he  came  here  at  all." 

"Don't  know  about  that,  Ray,"  said  Susy,  puck 
ering  her  mouth  and  shaking  her  head.  "  Sackcloth 
scratches;  the  duke  would  never  put  it  on,  whatever 
the  occasion.  How  did  his  mother  get  on?  She 
looked  like  a  fish  out  of  water." 

Rachel  smiled  and  answered,  — 

"She  wouldn't  like  to  own  it,  but  she  had  a 
beautiful  time.  She  's  in  sackcloth  to-day,  though, 
I  am  positive.  Come  upstairs  now  and  help  me  get 
the  children  dressed,  will  thee?"  She  closed  the 
o-lass  door  leading  on  to  the  piazza,  and  drew  down 
the  shade. 

When  they  reached  Rachel's  room,  Susy  returned 
to  the  discussion  of  Mrs.  Desborough.  "I  thought 
she  looked  worried.  Why  does  thee  think  she  en 
joyed  herself,  and  why  the  sackcloth?  She  isn't 
in  any  danger  of  being  dragged  into  the  fair." 

"She  was  worried  just  because  she  was  having 
such  a  good  time,"  said  Rachel.  "She  was  never 
half,  or  quarter,  so  much  interested  before,  and  it 
was  n't  proper  for  her  to  be  entertained  by  such  a 
queer  set  as  she  thinks  we  all  are.  I  haven't  been 
scrutinized  by  her  and  the  River stons,  without  learn 
ing  to  know  it  when  I  'm  disapproved  of.  But  she 
did  find  the  people  she  talked  with  interesting,  and 
thee  noticed  her  between  times,  when  she  was  on  pins 
and  needles  for  fear  their  being  here  was  going  to 
make  them  too  intimate  with  us.  We  are  not  the 
correct  thing  at  all,  Sue,  dear,  and  thee  needn't  be 


86  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

so  daft  as  to  expect  to  meet  Mr.  Horace  Desborough 
here  on  Third-day  evening.  He  '11  write  me  a  beau 
tiful  little  note  before  then,  expressing  his  'regret 
that  business  engagements  interfere ; '  see  if  he 
doesn't." 

"Young  Mr.  Kiverston  would  come  in  a  minute, 
Ray,  if  thee  'd  invite  him.  We  do  need  a  few  gen 
tlemen  awfully,  and  we  might  use  him  for"  — 

"For  what?  "  asked  Rachel,  getting  a  dress  of  her 
little  sister's  from  a  closet. 

"Decoration,  of  course;  what's  our  committee 
for?  "  said  Susy,  laughing.  "He  wears  such  pretty 
gloves  and  brings  thee  such  lovely  flowers.  He  'd 
look  sweet  behind  our  table." 

"Poor  fellow!  I  think  thee  's  hard  on  him,"  said 
Rachel,  brushing  Betty's  bonnet  at  the  window. 

"  Thee  was  hard  on  him  last  night,  Ray  Stan- 
wood,"  said  Susy.  "Thee  might  have  worn  some 
of  his  flowers,  instead  of  carrying  Grace's  all  the 
evening.  Leaving  them  all  by  their  lone  selves,  off 
in  the  back  parlor!  Meg  Norris  and  Mattie  and  I 
came  near  dividing  them  among  us." 

"Why  didn't  you?  I  wish  you  had,"  said  Ra 
chel. 

Susy  laughed  again.  "I  call  that  cruel,"  she 
said.  "And  there  he  was,  poor  boy,  buzzing 
around,  trying  to  get  within  hailing  distance  of 
thee,  taking  up  with  us  because  he  couldn't  do  any 
better,  and  answering  us  in  dreams,  with  his  eyes  — • 
Ahem !  I'd  like  just  to  know  how  it  feels  to  have 
a  pair  of  eyes  after  you  like  that !  " 

"Do  stop  thy  nonsense,  Sue  Morton,  and  rip  this 


MISS  MAC CL ABE  BEGINS  A  NEW  CAREER.      87 

ruffle  off  Betty's  dress.      She  and  Dick  have  got  to 
take  a  note  to  Mrs.  Riverston." 

"She  didn't  have  a  very  good  time,  did  she?" 
said  Susy,  snipping  the  bastings. 

"Yes;  she's  an  awfully  wet  blanket  and  extin 
guishes  everybody,  but  she  got  what  she  came  for, 
and  went  home  happy.  And  oh,  Sue,  didn't  Re 
becca  enjoy  those  Scotch  songs?  Didn't  she  think 
Miss  MacClare's  voice  wonderful?" 

"Beck  was  in  the  clouds  and  has  been  misty  ever 
since,"  said  Susy. 

The  girls  passed  into  recalling  and  summing  up 
the  evening's  pleasures  and  successes.  Rachel  sup 
pressed  the  recollection  of  the  Scotch  girl's  subse 
quent  behavior,  and  dwelt  upon  the  beauty  of  her 
voice  and  the  project  concerning  its  cultivation. 

Elizabeth  and  Richard  appeared,  to  be  made  ready 
to  carry  the  note. 

The  Riverstons  lived  in  a  corner  house  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Washington  Parade  Ground. 
There  was  an  imposing  entrance  for  the  family  and 
friends  upon  one  side  of  it,  and  one  around  the 
corner  for  servants  and  tradespeople.  At  the  base 
of  the  house,  interrupted  only  by  the  two  entrances, 
was  a  broad  mound  covered  with  well-kept  lawn 
grass  and  finished  on  its  outer  edge  by  a  stone  wall 
two  feet  high. 

Elizabeth  and  Richard  did  not  know  at  first  to 
which  door  they  had  better  go.  The  main  entrance 
looked  formidable,  and  they  went  around  the  corner 
to  take  a  survey  of  the  one  there.  The  mound 
rounded,  with  its  wall,  on  either  side  of  the  ser- 


88  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

vants'  door,  which  was  of  heavy  ash  protected  by  a 
gate  of  iron  filigree.  There  was  the  same  filigree 
at  all  the  lower  windows.  The  servants'  entrance 
side  did  not  look  promising  and  the  children  re 
turned  to  the  great  front  door.  Richard  walked 
around  to  it  on  top  of  the  little  stone  wall;  Eliza 
beth  wanted  to,  but  she  had  on  her  best  clothes, 
and  was  on  her  dignity.  At  the  top  of  the  high 
doorsteps  were  two  crouching  lions  carved  in  stone. 

"Heigho!  "  said  Eichard,  getting  astride  of  one. 
"Don't  ring  yet,  Betty!  Wait  till  I  try  the  other 
feller;  ain't  they  jolly ?" 

"Oh,  Dick!  "  said  Betty,  with  affected  tolerance, 
and  a  secret  longing  to  sit  on  a  lion  too.  "Some 
body  may  see  thee,  and  thee  'd  be  awfully  ashamed. 
Thee  'd  better  get  off.  I  'in  going  to  ring.  Mother 
said  we  mustn't  poke." 

She  pulled  the  brass  knob,  and  then  was  sorry  be 
cause  she  perceived  fearful  signs  of  the  lion's  dust 
upon  Dick. 

"Oh,  Dick,  look  at  thy  jacket  behind!  "  she  cried. 

"It 's  on  my  knees,  too,  and  my  gloves!  "  he  said 
ruefully,  holding  his  hands  out.  "What  shall  I  do, 
Betty?  Shall  I  run  before  they  open  the  door?" 
It  was  a  brilliant  thought,  and  he  'd  have  gone  if 
Betty,  seized  with  horror  at  the  thought  of  being 
deserted,  had  not  promptly  and  vigorously  laid 
hands  upon  him. 

"No,  thee  shan't  go  a  step!  "  she  exclaimed,  hold 
ing  on  with  difficulty  and  trying  to  slap  the  dust  off 
his  back.  "Mother  sent  thee  on  the  errand  just  as 
much  as  me,  and  I  won't  go  in  alone.  Hold  still!  " 


MISS  NAG  CLARE  BEGINS  A  NEW  CAREER.      89 

"She  didn't;  thee  's  got  the  letter,  and  I  'm  only 
for  company." 

"She  did!  "said  Betty. 

"Didn't!"  said  Dick,  but  he  wriggled  out  of 
her  grasp  too  late.  The  door  opened,  and  a  pompous 
butler  was  holding  it  in  a  way  which  seemed  to  in 
dicate  that  they  could  enter  the  house  over  his  dead 
body,  only. 

"What  d'  ye  want?"  he  asked,  looking  down  at 
them  as  if  they  had  come  to  steal. 

"We — we  brought  a  letter,"  said  Betty,  holding 
it  up,  "and  we  're  to  wait  for  an  answer." 

Both  children  looked  up  at  the  cross  butler  as  if 
he  had  authority  to  arrest  them  immediately. 

He  admitted  them  and  said,  "Ye  can  wait  here." 
He  put  the  note  upon  a  silver  tray,  which  he  took 
from  a  table,  and  walked  upstairs  leisurely. 

The  children  were  left  standing  in  a  large,  square 
hall.  Opposite  the  front  door  there  was  an  open 
fireplace  with  brass  furnishings,  a  large  landscape 
painting  over  it,  and  on  either  side  heavy  chairs 
of  carved  oak.  There  were  a  good  many  doors  in 
every  direction,  excepting  on  the  left  of  the  fire 
place,  where  was  a  grand  staircase  with  carved  bal 
ustrades,  at  the  foot  of  which,  on  pedestals,  were  two 
statues,  one  of  young  Bacchus  with  a  load  of  fruits, 
and  the  other  of  Hebe  pouring  nectar.  By  the  front 
door  where  the  children  were  standing  was  an  enor 
mous  mirror,  and  opposite  it  was  a  stiff  oak  bench, 
with  carved  back  and  arms,  like  a  very  limited  and 
uncomfortable  church  pew. 

The  butler  came  downstairs  as  he  had  gone  up, 


90  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

leisurely.  He  did  not  look  at  the  children,  but,  on 
his  way  to  a  room  back  of  the  fireplace,  croaked, 
"Ye  '11  have  an  answer  when  it 's  ready,"  and  pass 
ing  through  one  of  the  doors,  closed  it  behind  him. 

"I  didn't  move,  Betty,"  whispered  Dick. 
"Does  thee  think  he  saw  the  dirt  on  my  back?" 

"No,"  whispered  Betty,  turning  to  look;  then 
adding  hastily,  "Yes,  he  could  see  in  the  looking- 
glass.  But,"  as  Dick  twisted  to  see  himself  behind, 
"may  be  he  didn't  look." 

"If  he  sees  it,  he  '11  know  I  've  been  on  a  lion," 
said  Dick,  a  little  anxious. 

"Come  sit  here  and  he  can't,"  said  Betty,  taking 
a  seat  on  the  pew  bench.  It  was  so  high  that  even 
Betty's  feet  could  not  touch  the  floor  unless  she  sat 
forward. 

"I  'd  brush  it  off,  if  it  wouldn't  make  a  noise," 
she  said.  "Sh!  what's  that?"  A  door  opened 
somewhere  and  closed  again.  It  was  very  still.  A 
tall  clock  in  the  corner  by  them  ticked  with  solemn 
dignity.  The  children,  silent  for  a  while,  took  a 
survey  of  everything.  The  light  was  dull,  finding- 
its  way  through  the  windows  over  the  top  and  down 
the  sides  of  the  front  door.  More  found  its  way 
from  a  window  half  way  up  the  staircase.  Presently 
Dick  began  to  be  restless.  "I  wish  I  had  run 
away!  Mother  didn't  say  it,  neither." 

"Sh!  she  did!  Thee  might  have  got  lost,"  said 
Betty. 

"Did  n't,  did  n't,  did  n't,  —  whatever  thee  says, 
I  say  it  twice  as  many  times;  and  I  wouldn't  get 
lost,"  said  Dick. 


MISS  MAC  CLARE  BEGINS  A  NEW  CAEEER.       91 

"Well,  thee  can't  get  away  now,  anyhow,"  said 
Betty,  outdone  in  the  argument.  "And  thee 'd 
better  not  whisper  so  loud,  or  that  man  '11  come 
along.  He  's  worse  than  Mr.  Cumley." 

"George  and  Louis  Norris  call  Mr.  Cumley 
'Hairem  Scarem,'  but  I  like  'Bobtight'  better," 
said  Dick. 

"Hush!  "  said  Betty,  laughing  softly. 

There  was  another  minute  or  two  of  silence  and 
then  Betty  said,  "Let 's  play  something." 

"Play  what?"  asked  Dick,  standing  up  to  hitch 
his  trousers.  The  clock  by  him  buzzed  suddenly 
and  began  to  strike.  Dick's  "oh!"  was  a  squeak, 
and  set  both  children  to  laughing.  They  tried  their 
best  to  smother  the  sounds,  wriggled,  hitched,  and 
finally  got  down  on  their  knees  to  hide  their  faces 
in  the  seat  of  the  bench,  but  every  other  instant 
there  would  escape  a  wheeze  or  a  sputter  from  one 
of  them,  and  that  would  set  them  off  anew.  It  was 
entertaining,  though,  trying  not  to  laugh  aloud,  and 
disposed  of  at  least  ten  minutes.  By  that  time 
their  laugh  was  exhausted,  and  would  not  be  coaxed 
back.  They  made  soft,  intentional  little  squeals, 
but  it  was  of  no  use ;  the  laugh  was  over  and  time 
again  hung  heavily.  The  grim  old  clock  ticked  as 
if  there  was  so  much  time  on  hand  that  it  could 
never  be  parcelled  off  where  it  belonged.  It  seemed 
to  tick  nothing  but,  "Plen-ty  of -Time!  Plen-ty 
of -Time!"  The  children  kept  time  with  their 
hands  and  then  with  their  feet.  Then  they  slid 
down  from  the  bench  and  stepped  on  tiptoe  across 
the  black  and  white  chequered  marble  floor  to  the 


92  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

table  in  the  middle  of  the  hall.  For  a  while  they 
played  that  they  would  be  poisoned  if  they  trod 
upon  any  but  the  white  squares  of  marble.  Once 
in  a  while  a  little  sound  in  the  house  sent  them 
hustling  back  to  the  pew-bench.  Twice  the  door 
bell  rang  and  gave  them  hope  of  deliverance.  But 
the  butler  answered  it  both  times,  once  telling  some 
body  that  the  ladies  were  out,  and  the  other  time 
receiving  a  parcel  with  which  he  disappeared  by  one 
of  the  doors.  He  took  no  notice  of  the  children 
either  time.  Once  there  was  a  rustle  on  the  stairs, 
and  Miss  Riverston  came  down  in  fine  array,  to  go 
out.  The  children  sat  up,  very  straight  and  smiling, 
certain  this  time  that  she  must  be  bringing  the  an 
swer  to  their  mother's  note.  But  she  only  pulled  a 
rope  by  the  mirror,  which  made  a  bell  tinkle  in  the 
distance,  and  summoned  the  butler,  who  opened  the 
door  for  her.  She  swept  out  without  a  word,  and 
when  she  had  gone,  two  rueful  little  faces  looked  at 
each  other.  Dick  pointed  to  the  door  behind  which 
the  butler  had  disappeared,  and  said  in  an  indignant 
whisper,  "He  tells  lies!  He  said  they 'd  gone  out 
and  she  had  n't  at  all!  " 

"So  he  did,"  said  Betty,  "may  be  he  thought  she 
was  out." 

"Won't  she  be  mad,  though,  if  she  finds  it  out!  " 
Dick  said,  and  for  two  minutes  they  speculated  on 
what  might  be  the  results  of  such  a  discovery.  She 
looked  cross,  but  it  did  not  seem  to  them  that  any 
body  could  be  bold  enough  to  find  fault  with  the 
butler.  They  had  lost  their  respect  for  him,  be 
cause  of  that  lie,  but  their  dread  of  him  had  not 
diminished. 


MISS  MAC  CLARE  BEGINS  A  NEW  CAREER.      93 

"What  shall  we  play  now?  I'm  tired  of 
'poison,'  "  Dick  complained. 

"Play  these  are  a  prince  and  princess,  bringing 
us  presents,"  said  Elizabeth,  surveying  the  statues. 

Dick  looked  from  one  to  the  other  several  times 
in  disgust.  Then  he  said,  "If  he  's  a  prince,  he  's 
a  mean,  stingy  old  thing!  And  so  he  is,  if  he  's  any 
body  at  all!" 

"Why,  Dick!  "  exclaimed  Elizabeth,  scandalized, 
"he's  lovely!  I  don't  see  why  he's  stingy,  when 
he  's  bringing  us  such  a  lot  of  nice  grapes." 

"Well,  he  is,"  said  Richard,  stolidly.  "If  he  's 
a  prince,  he  ought  to  buy  his  sister  some  clo'es  to 
wear;  an'  some  for  himself,  too, — clo'es  what  'd 
stay  on.  And  he  's  a  pig!  " 

"Why?"  asked  Betty.  "Suppose  he  isn't  a 
prince,  but  only  a  poor  boy  starting  off  to  seek  his 
fortune?" 

"Well,  he's  a  pig  just  the  same,"  said  Dick. 
"For,  if  he  can  get  a  beautiful,  big  basket  of  grapes, 
he  can  sell  'em  an'  buy  clo'es  with  the  money.  And 
she  's  a  ninny!  She  's  holding  on  to  that  queer 
pitcher  just  as  if  it  was  so  full  that  she  was  afraid 
she  'd,  spill  the  stuff  in  it,  and  it  's  got  such  a  little 
neck  that  it  could  n't  spill.  Why,  she  could  take  it, 
like  this,  and  sling  it  round  and  round,  this  way!  " 
Dick  slung  his  arm  round  furiously  several  times. 

"Sh-sh-sh!  "  said  Betty,  looking  up  the  stairs  and 
all  about,  to  see  if  anybody  was  coming  to  inquire 
what  they  were  making  such  a  noise  about.  They 
were  not  in  the  least  noisy,  but  the  house  was  so  still 
that  Dick's  whispers  sounded  very  loud.  Reassured 


94  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

by  the  quiet,  Betty  said,  in  defense  of  the  statues, 
"Thee  don't  understand,  Dick;  they  are  not  real 
people,  — they  are  out  of  poetry." 

"They  are  n't  out  of  my  kind  of  poetry,"  he  said, 
with  no  opinion  at  all  of  either  Hebe  or  Bacchus. 
"Their  kind  isn't  half  or  quarter  so  nice  as  father's 
about  King  Hortius  and  Lake  Religious!  " 

"Oh,  Dick!  It 's  'King  Horatius,'  and  I  forget 
what  the  lake  is,  but  I  know  it  isn't  Religious," 
said  Betty,  secure  that  her  knowledge  went  further 
than  his. 

"Well,  what's  the  difference?"  asked  Dick. 
"An'  I  say 't  is, 't  is  "  - 

"And  1  say  whatever  thee  says  twice  as  many 
times,  — so  there,  I  got  it  in  first  this  time!  "  said 
Betty,  as  fast  as  her  tongue  could  rattle.  They  were 
quite  good-natured  in  most  of  these  disputes,  their 
disagreements  being  on  the  surface  and  ending  with 
simply  a  tilt,  to  see  which  could  first  close  the  argu 
ment  with  their  set  form,  "whatever  thee  says,  I  say 
it  twice  as  many  times." 

"Anyway,"  said  Dick,  heaving  a  big  sigh,  "I  like 
'Plortius  '  the  best."  His  weariness  seemed  to  reach 
a  climax,  and  he  exclaimed,  "/  say!  This  is  a 
grea*  deal  worse  than  meeting!  Don't  thee  think 
we  could  go,  Betty?" 

"No,"  said  Betty,  "  mother  wants  an  answer  to 
the  letter.  Hush,  now,  and  be  ready,  for  the  clock  's 
going  off  again;  it 's  two  minutes  of  twelve." 

"  I  don't  care  if  it  busts !  "  said  Dick,  getting  cross. 
"It  can't  make  me  laugh  any  more,  an'  I  'm  awful 
thirsty,  an'  just  as  hot  as  thunder!  " 


MISS  MAC  CLARE  BEGINS  A  NEW  CAREER.      95 

"So  am  I,"  said  Betty,  dolefully.  But  the  house 
was  as  silent  as  a  tomb,  and  there  seemed  no  pros 
pect  of  release  for  the  little  captives. 

The  butler  delivered  Mrs.  Staiiwood's  note  to 
Mrs.  Riverston  upstairs  in  her  "morning-room,"  a 
name  which  she  thought  more  elegant  than  the  old- 
fashioned  one  of  "sitting  -  room."  It  was  on  the 
front  corner  of  the  second  floor,  with  a  deep  bay- 
window  upon  one  side,  and,  on  another,  two  smaller 
windows,  with  an  open  fireplace  between  them.  The 
furnishings  of  the  room  were  luxurious.  Curtains 
of  silk  and  lace,  stuffed  chairs,  lounges  and  soft 
cushions  all  betokened  the  importance  of  physical 
comfort  to  their  owners.  There  seemed  to  be  very 
little  in  the  room  which  suggested  anything  else. 
The  young  lady  in  the  oil  painting  over  the  mantel 
piece,  represented  as  waving  an  adieu  to  her  lover 
from  a  balcony,  looked,  in  her  waxen  beauty,  as  if 
she  had  never  experienced  a  sensation  of  pain,  and 
as  if,  should  her  lover  meet  with  the  worst  of  fates, 
she  would  receive  news  of  the  calamity  with  becom 
ing  grace  which  would  neither  disturb  her  repose  nor 
distort  her  features.  The  family  portraits  of  two 
Eiverston  ancestors  looked  as  if  they  had  lived  well 
and  never  lost  an  hour  of  sleep,  and  Mrs.  Riverston, 
sitting  in  an  easy  chair  reading  Mrs.  Stanwood's 
note,  looked  as  if  the  person  who  interfered  with  her 
comfort  would  have  a  hard  time  of  it.  The  only 
discomfort  in  the  room  seemed  embodied  in  the  per 
son  of  Miss  Clementina  Riverston,  and  she  was  going 
out.  She  had  her  bonnet  on  and  was  sitting-  in  the 


96  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

bay-window,  putting  on  a  pair  of  new  kid  gloves 
which  were  too  small.  The  gloves  were  trying,  but 
they  were  not  enough  to  account  for  the  sour  expres 
sion  of  Miss  Riverston's  face. 

"Well!"  said  Mrs.  Riverston,  reaching  Mrs. 
Stan  wood's  note  to  her  daughter,  who  crossed  the 
space  between  them  to  receive  it.  "There's  Miss 
MacClare  disposed  of!  We  accomplished  that,  at 
any  rate,  by  going  last  evening." 

"If  that  is  all  we  accomplished,  it  is  worth  the 
sacrifice,"  said  Clementina,  laying  the  note  on  her 
mother's  table.  "But  my  opinion  is  that  we  went  a 
good  distance  toward  accomplishing  something  else, 
in  comparison  with  which  Miss  MacClare  weighs  as 
nothing  in  the  balance." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Clementina?  Are  you 
thinking  of  Burton  ?"  asked  her  mother,  looking  a 
little  anxious. 

"Yes,  I  am,"  said  Clementina,  working  again  at 
her  glove.  "That  girl  is  clever  enough  to  know  on 
which  side  her  bread  is  buttered.  Burton  's  a  fool ! 
He  is  going  to  let  her  rope  him  in  just  as  she  has 
roped  in  Horace  Desborough." 

"You  don't  say  so !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Riverston. 
"  What  a  pity !  That  will  be  pretty  hard  for  the 
Desboroughs !  I  wish  I  had  known  it  last  evening, 
and  I  wouldn't  have  been  so  worried  about  poor 
Burton.  If  there 's  a  chance  of  her  capturing 
Horace  Desborough,  why  " 

"Good  gracious,  mother!  If  you  go  on  in  that 
way,  in  another  minute  you  '11  have  them  married ! 
I  did  n't  say  anything  about  her  capturing  him  or 


MISS  MAC  CLARE  BEGINS  A  NEW  CAREER.      97 

anybody.  It  is  n't  her  way  to  try  that  sort  of  thing. 
Nor  is  it  necessary.  The  men  are  fools  about  her, 
just  as  Burton  is.  She  goes  about  like  an  empress 
among  them,  and  it  looks  to  me  as  if  she  was  just 
holding  off  until  they  were  all  wild  about  her,  and 
then,  when  she  is  ready,  all  she  will  have  to  do 
will  be  to  point  her  imperial  finger  to  one  of  them 
and  say,  4I  '11  take  you,  sir!  '  There  's  the  danger, 
mother,  for  when  she  does  that,  the  man  will  go, 
whoever  he  is,  and  if  she  chooses  to  select  Burton, 
there  he  is,  all  ready  and  waiting." 

"Good  heavens,  explain  yourself,  Clementina!" 
cried  Mrs.  Riverston,  impatiently.  "You  just  inti 
mated  that  she  had  selected  young  Desborough,  and 
now  you  are  alarmed  for  Burton.  And  1  say  that 
I  'm  sorry  for  the  Desboroughs  if  she  succeeds.  If 
she  succeeds,  understand.  For  it  does  not  seem 
probable  that  such  a  match  as  that  can  be  brought 
about,  even  with  the  power  you  ascribe  to  her.  The 
Desboroughs  will  resist  it  and  overcome  it.  They 
are  not  fools.  But,  even  from  your  own  standpoint, 
I  don't  see  your  argument,  for  Miss  Stan  wood's 
very  preference  for  young  Desborough  will  certainly 
be  a  protection  to  Burton.  I  don't  think  she  seems 
like  the  kind  of  girl  to  want  two  strings  to  her  bow. 
And  she  seems  modest,  in  the  main.  She  is  strong- 
willed  ;  I  could  see  that  when  she  was  talking  to  me 
about  Miss  MacClare.  Her  mother  was  far  more 
amiable  and  reasonable  about  that.  It  was  the 
daughter  who  made  all  those  suggestions  about  our 
doing  any  more  for  the  girl.  She  seemed  to  take  it 
for  granted  that  we  would  be  willing  to  contribute 


98  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

toward  her  support  and  musical  education.  That 
was  pretty  cool  and  rather  selfish,  considering  all  that 
we  have  done,  but  she  's  young  and  inexperienced, 
and  she  has  never  had  any  money  herself,  poor  thing, 
or  she  would  not  have  made  such  a  proposition. 
Then,  of  course,  it  was  not  the  thing  at  all  for  her 
to  be  making  any  suggestions  to  a  person  so  much 
older  than  herself  as  I  am,  and  one  of  dignity  and 
position.  Her  mother  is,  in  every  way,  her  supe 
rior.  She  agreed  with  me  in  every  particular  as  to 
Miss  MacClare,  and  I  am  really  indebted  to  her 
for"- 

"  Well,  you  had  better  wait  and  pay  her  off  when 
the  debt  has  accumulated  to  the  full  amount, 
mother,"  said  Clementina,  who  did  not  always  wait 
for  her  mother  to  finish  before  striking  in. 

Clementina  had  a  vocal  pedal  of  her  own,  which 
she  put  down  when  it  was  necessary  for  her  to  in 
sert  remarks  between  the  waves  of  her  mother's 
talk.  She  put  it  down  now,  and  her  mother  sub 
sided  while  her  shriller  voice  made  itself  dominant. 
Going  on  with  the  simile  of  their  indebtedness  to 
Mrs.  Stanwood,  Miss  Riverston  said,  "You  need 
not  worry  lest  she  won't  hand  in  her  bill,  mother, 
and  if  it 's  not  for  Burton,  you  may  thank  fortune, 
but  not  Mrs.  or  Miss  Stanwood.  Your  mind  was 
taken  up  last  night  with  getting  rid  of  Miss  Mac- 
Clare,  and  you  did  not  see  what  I  did.  Miss  Stan- 
wood  did  not  make  her  selection  as  to  a  lover  last 
evening;  she  is  not  nearly  ready  to  do  that." 

"Then  what"  —  began  Mrs.  Eiverston,  but 
Clementina's  pedal  was  down,  and  she  continued, 


MISS  MAC  CLARE  BEGINS  A  NEW  CAREER.      99 

"You'll  understand,  if  you  '11  wait,  mother,  and 
as  I  am  going  out,  you  had  better  allow  me  to  fin 
ish,  for  the  carriage  will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes. 
I  say  that  I  do  not  think  Miss  Stanwood  cares  to 
select  a  husband  as  yet;  she  was  only  selecting  a 
corps  of  workers  for  the  anti-slavery  fair,  and  she 
roped  in  Horace  Desborough  as  one.  The  very 
name  'anti-slavery  '  is  enough  for  you  and  me,  and 
we  must  keep  Burton  out  of  it,  if  we  can.  I  pre 
vented  him  from  having  one  conversation  with  Miss 
Stanwood  by  sending  him  off  to  get  me  a  glass  of 
water,  and  I  'd  have  done  it  a  second  time,  if  a  lady 
with  short  hair  and  a  baby's  cap  on  had  not  intro 
duced  herself  and  cornered  me.  Such  a  lot  of  queer 
people  I  never  found  myself  among  before !  Some 
of  them  looked  as  if  they  were  dressed  for  charades. 
It  would  have  been  amusing  but  for  the  danger  of 
compromising  one's  self.  Father  is  n't  in  the  least 
sympathy  with  anti-slavery  sentiments;  why  need 
we  have  anything  whatever  to  do  with  people  who 
ride  the  hobby  of  abolitionism?  " 

"Yes,  I  would  prefer  taking  a  bold  stand  in  the 
matter,"  said  Mrs.  River ston.  "But  your  father 
says  we  cannot  afford  to  repudiate  those  principles 
altogether.  There  are  the  Jays  and  Sturgises  and 
Schuylers,  and  a  good  many  of  our  wealthy  people, 
supporting  the  anti-slavery  party  now,  and  some  of 
the  cream  of  Boston  society  belongs  to  it.  So  we 
have  to  accommodate  ourselves  to  both  sides,  Clem 
entina,  and  be  careful.  It  is  always  safe  to  be  that. 
And,  after  all,  what  would  we  do  without  such  peo 
ple  as  the  Stan  woods?  Who  else  would  take  our 


100  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

Miss  MacClares  off  our  hands?  Don't  forget  that 
we  owe  them  something  for  that." 

"Yes,"  said  Clementina,  grudgingly.  "But  we 
paid  off  a  good  part  of  the  debt  by  going  to  their 
house  last  evening.  It  is  no  slight  favor  to  them 
to  have  a  few  handsomely  dressed,  dignified  people 
of  position  to  give  tone  to  such  a  company  as  last 
night's.  I  am  sure  the  Stan  woods  were  glad  enough 
to  have  us  and  the  Desboroughs,  and  will  boast  of 
it,  too." 

"Oh,  of  course  they  will,"  said  Mrs.  Riverston. 
"But  that  won't  do  us  much  harm.  We  shall  not 
necessarily  invite  them  here,  and  " 

"I  should  hope  not!"  Miss  Eiverston  exclaimed 
impatiently,  as  she  perceived  the  carriage,  from  the 
window,  and  started  to  go  to  it.  "I  should  hope 
not,  if  only  for  Burton's  sake!  " 

Miss  Riverston's  disposition  was  sharpened  by 
various  causes.  She  was  something  of  an  invalid, 
being  a  sufferer  from  dyspepsia ;  she  had  had  a  scant 
number  of  admirers  and  would  have  liked  more, 
and  she  was  twenty-nine  and  did  not  want  to  be 
thirty.  There  were  a  good  many  years  between  her 
and  young  Burton,  he  being  only  twenty-one,  and 
she  had  elected  herself  his  keeper  and  guardian. 
After  she  had  gone,  Mrs.  River ston  picked  up  a 
showy  piece  of  worsted  work  and  busied  herself  with 
it  while  her  mind  rambled  on  about  the  Stanwoods. 

Yes,  she  thought,  it  was  well  to  be  careful. 
They,  the  Riverstons,  had  a  position  to  be  main 
tained,  and  it  must  not  be  compromised  in  any  way. 
Clementina's  talk  had  enlightened  her  on  many 


MISS  MAC  CLARE  BEGINS  A  NEW  CAREER.    101 

points.  They  had  done  eno^gh^?  ^e  Stowoods 
by  going  to  their  party ;  now  they  corld  hold  aloof. 
The  Stan  woods  had  no  poeiSofc  ,  in  'society ;  :tney 
claimed  none,  and  it  was  better  simply  to  leave 
them  where  they  were  satisfied  to  be.  The  only 
aspect  of  the  situation  which  was  serious  was,  pos 
sibly,  from  Burton's  point  of  view.  If  he  should 
be  led  into  mixing  up  with  the  anti  -  slavery  fail- 
business,  and  be  dazzled  by  that  girl's  beauty,  it 
would  be  dreadful !  She  must  have  a  serious  talk 
with  Burton.  Yet  she  was  clever  enough  to  know 
that  talking  would  not  influence  Burton,  if  his  head 
was  turned.  Why  could  it  not  have  been  turned  in 
another  direction?  If  he  had  only  taken  a  fancy 
to  Miss  Graythorn,  or  young  Desborough's  sister! 
She  wondered  whether  she  and  Clementina  had  not 
been  remiss  in  their  attentions  to  the  Graythorns 
and  Desboroughs.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Desborough  did 
not  know  that  her  son  had  been  "roped  in,"  as 
Clementina  called  it,  to  this  fair  business.  She 
would  take  an  occasion  and  acquaint  her  with  the 
fact.  Suppose  she  invited  the  Desboroughs  and 
Graythorns  to  dinner  some  night!  By  doing  that 
several  birds  might  be  killed  at  once.  Horace 
Desborough  might  be  reclaimed  and  Burton  might 
have  his  admiration  turned  into  a  new  channel  by 
either  Miss  Graythorn  or  Miss  Desborough.  Mrs. 
Riverston  thought  it  all  over  and  decided  to  write 
her  invitations  as  soon  as  she  could  consult  with 
Clementina. 

So,  her  thoughts  had  a  great  deal  to  do  in  one 
short  morning,   and  she  was  quite  surprised   when 


102  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

the  stopping,  of  a  carriage  and  a  ring  at  the  bell  an- 
noune^d.the,  return,  of  Clementina  and  the  butler 
appeared  to  say  thai  luncheon  was  served. 

Mrs.  Kiverston  laid  aside  her  work  promptly  and 
went  down-stairs. 

"Luncheon  is  ready,"  she  said,  meeting  Clem 
entina  in  the  hall.  "Don't  go  upstairs  first.  Come 
into  the  breakfast-room,  I  have  something  to  pro 
pose  to  you." 

"  Look  there  !  "  said  Clementina,  pointing  into  the 
corner  behind  the  front  door. 

Squeezed  into  one  end  of  the  pew-bench,  in  the 
most  uncomfortable  position,  her  head  resting  011 
her  arm,  over  the  side,  was  Elizabeth,  with  her  lit 
tle  brother's  head  in  her  lap,  his  small  body  filling 
up  the  rest  of  the  seat.  Both  children  were  fast 
asleep. 

"It  was  heartless  and  inexcusable!  Poor  little 
things!  "  Rachel  commented,  after  the  children  had 
had  their  dinner,  answered  the  questions  put  to 
them,  and  were  having  a  refreshing  play  in  the 
garden. 

"Don't  judge  harshly;  they  meant  no  unkindness 
to  the  children,  and  only  forgot  them,  that  is  all," 
said  Mrs.  Stanwood.  "The  important  point  is 
their  position  toward  this  poor,  friendless  girl, 
Tibbie.  Mrs.  Eiverston  writes  that  they  'refrain 
from  any  interference  with  our  most  judicious 
plans,''  -Mrs.  Stanwood  was  reading  from  the 
note  which  Mrs.  River ston  had  sent  by  the  children, 
—  "and  so  on.  She  writes,  'It  would  be  wrong 


MISS  MAC  CLARE  BEGINS  A  NEW  CAREER.    103 

to  mislead  the  girl  by  allowing  her  to  expect  a  con 
tinuance  of  that  interest  and  protection  which  she 
has  had  under  my  roof,  and  therefore,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Stanwood,  we  cheerfully  defer  to  your  better  judg 
ment  and  withdraw  from  any  further  responsibility 
as  regards  Miss  MacClare.' 

"It  isn't  worth  while  to  read  the  rest,"  Mrs. 
Stanwood  said,  putting  the  note  aside,  under  a  paper 
weight,  with  a  decided  little  gesture  as  if  she  put 
the  writer,  also,  aside.  "She  calls  it  'conforming 
to  our  decision, '  but  the  plain  English  of  it  is  that 
they  don't  want  to  have  anything  more  to  do  with 
the  girl.  And  it  is  very  desirable,  for  her  sake, 
that  they  should  not.  Now  help  her,  Rachel,  to  dis 
miss  them  from  her  mind.  We  will  give  her  the 
chance  to  begin  a  new  life  here.  See  that  she 
keeps  her  appointments  with  Mr.  Kreutsohn,  and 
so  gets  all  the  benefit  possible  from  the  arrangement 
made  this  morning." 


CHAPTER   V. 

GETTING   READY. 

EARLY  on  a  raw,  cloudy  afternoon  in  the  middle 
of  December,  a  little  group  of  ladies,  old  and 
young,  met  in  Nelson  Hall  to  make  their  first  prep 
arations  for  the  annual  anti-slavery  fair. 

The  hall  was  a  bare,  cheerless  one,  in  a  building 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Astor  Place.  It  was  full  of 
draughts  and  dust,  the  globes  of  the  gas-fixtures 
were  smoky  and  the  windows  dingy.  The  ladies 
were  gathered  around  Mrs.  Stan  wood,  consulting 
about  some  difficulties  which  appeared  serious.  The 
fair  was  to  open  on  Monday,  and,  as  a  great  con 
cession,  the  ladies  were  allowed  to  begin  the  opera 
tion  of  cleaning  the  hall  on  this  afternoon.  They 
were  discussing  the  conditions  upon  which  the  priv 
ilege  had  been  granted. 

"We  are  to  vacate  the  premises  by  six  o'clock, 
and  leave  nothing  behind  us,  "said  a  tall,  grim -look 
ing  lady  in  a  Quaker  "coal-scuttle  "  bonnet  and  long 
cloak. 

"If  we  could  only  leave  those  things,"  said  Mrs. 
Morton,  pointing  to  a  pile  of  boards  and  a  heap  of 
roughly  made  trestles  in  the  lobby,  "we  could  get 
along  very  well.  William  Hedges  ordered  them 
to  be  sent  on  Second-day,  but  there  was  a  misun 
derstanding,  and  here  they  are." 


GETTING  READY.  105 

"They  can  be  left  in  the  anteroom,"  said  Mrs. 
Stan  wood. 

"Oh,  no,  they  can't,  Deborah,"  said  the  tall  lady 
who  had  first  spoken,  and  whose  name  was  Tabitha 
Snow.  "The  janitor  has  been  asked  and  has  re 
fused  positively.  He  is  no  friend  to  our  cause,  and 
is  going  to  do  all  he  can  to  annoy  us." 

"It  is  pretty  early  to  come  to  that  decision,"  said 
Mrs.  Stanwood.  "I  '11  see  him." 

"Wait,  Debby,  wait !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Morton, 
intercepting  her  as  she  was  starting  off.  "Thee 
hasn't  heard  half, — thee  has  only  just  come,  and 
we  have  been  here  some  minutes.  If  we  want  to 
use  pails  or  brooms,  or  anything  else,  we  have  got 
to  bring  our  own.  The  janitor  "  — 

"Leave  him  to  me  and  possess  your  souls  with 
patience,"  said  Mrs.  Stanwood,  walking  briskly  out 
of  the  room. 

The  other  ladies  hugged  their  elbows  and  stood 
about,  irresolute  and  uncomfortable  in  the  chilliness. 

"I  don't  see  what  's  to  be  done,"  said  Miss 
Snow,  or  Friend  Snow,  as  she  was  called.  "There 
isn't  any  use  in  staying  here  to  catch  cold.  Deb 
orah  can't  do  anything  with  that  man.  You  ought 
to  have  gentlemen  on  your  committee ;  who  is  chair 
man,  and  why  isn't  he  here?  Rachel  Stanwood,  I 
thought  thee  was  to  get  members  for  this  committee ; 
why  did  n't  thee  put  some  gentlemen  on  it?  Who 
is  the  chairman,  and  where  is  he?  " 

"I  can't  tell  where  he  is,"  Rachel  said,  and  left 
Mrs.  Morton  to  answer  the  rest  of  Friend  Snow's 
questions. 


106  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

"It  will  be  a  real  help,"  whispered  Susy  Morton 
to  her  sister  Rebecca,  "to  have  Tabitha  Snow 
round  to  remind  us  of  our  shortcomings." 

"What  is  she  here  for,  anyway?  She  isn't  on 
the  committee,"  said  Rebecca. 

"That 's  why,"  said  Susy,  her  gray  eyes  snapping. 
"She  hasn't  any  responsibility  and  can  interfere 
comfortably.  Ray  Stanwood,  what  is  thee  going  to 
do?" 

Rachel  had  taken  off  her  bonnet  and  mantle  and 
was  tying  on  a  white  apron. 

"The  fair  is  advertised  to  open  on  Second-day 
afternoon,  and  something  has  got  to  be  done,"  she 
said,  pinning  a  handkerchief,  in  a  three-cornered 
fold,  over  her  hair.  "Suppose  we  clean  all  the 
globes  we  can  reach."  In  less  than  two  minutes, 
with  aprons  and  handkerchief-caps,  the  girls  were 
ready  to  follow  her  lead. 

They  had  come  armed  with  dusting-cloths,  and 
when  Mrs.  Stanwood  returned,  were  all  busy,  pre 
senting  a  brisk  and  most  attractive  appearance.  If 
the  Quaker  girls  dressed  in  sombre  colors  and  wore 
no  ornaments,  they  knew,  as  well  as  the  world's 
people,  what  was  becoming,  and  those  handker 
chiefs,  with  the  exception,  perhaps,  of  Susy  Mor 
ton's,  were  pinned  with  wonderful  skill.  Susy  had 
no  decorative  genius  whatever;  her  cap  looked  like 
a  Shaker's. 

Mrs.  Stanwood  had  induced  the  crusty  janitor 
to  lend  brooms,  pails,  and  a  step-ladder,  and,  in 
the  course  of  a  few  minutes,  everybody  was  active, 
finding  possible  such  an  amount  of  cleaning  and 
polishing  as  only  women  could  discover. 


GETTING  EEADY.  107 

It  might  be  supposed  that  the  janitor  would  wel 
come  such  assistance  in  the  performance  of  his  duty, 
but  the  object  for  which  the  fair  was  to  be  held 
created  in  him  a  spirit  of  opposition,  and  he  was 
anxious  to  produce  as  many  difficulties  as  possible. 
The  people  busy  at  the  work  which  should  have 
been  done  for  them  made  no  complaint.  They 
were  accustomed  to  having  their  way  made  rough. 
If  the  fair  were  for  a  popular  cause,  it  would  be 
smooth  enough,  but  for  anti-slavery  purposes  it  was 
difficult  even  to  hire  suitable  places,  and  the  pro 
prietors  of  such  were  apt  to  shirk  all  other  responsi 
bility  than  that  of  receiving  prompt  and  liberal  pay 
ment.  Whichever  way  they  turned,  the  people  who 
engaged  in  getting  up  an  anti-slavery  fair  met  with 
obstacles.  They  fought  their  way  and  worked  their 
passage  to  success.  The  money  which  they  obtained 
came  from  a  few,  and  was  spent  with  the  utmost 
economy.  Men  worked  harder,  in  order  to  give 
more ;  women  pinched  and  saved,  to  make  one  dollar 
count  for  two. 

The  girls  worked  like  beavers  this  afternoon. 
Eachel  Stanwood,  particularly,  showed  skill  in  tak 
ing  upon  herself  the  part  which  was  heaviest  and 
least  agreeable.  But  she  was  closely  followed  up  by 
Susy  Morton,  whose  trim  little  feet  were  agile  in 
mounting  and  jumping  off  the  ladder  and  benches. 

"There!  Good!  "she  exclaimed,  as  the  janitor 
began  lighting  the  gas.  "Now  for  the  next  thing, 
Ray!  What  shall  it  be?" 

The  other  girls  were  busy,  dusting  and  polishing 
about  the  windows,  or  pasting  autumn  leaves  on  the 


108  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD, 

panes,  giving  them  the  effect  of  stained  glass.  Ra 
chel  and  Susy  had  just  finished  cleaning  a  very  dingy 
chandelier,  and  had  gone  out  in  the  lobby  to  see  if 
they  could  do  anything  with  the  pile  of  boards  and 
trestles  which  were  to  make  the  tables. 

Susy,  with  her  dress  pinned  up  like  a  washerwo 
man's,  sleeves  rolled  up,  tumbled  hair,  and  hand 
kerchief-cap  very  much  askew,  looked  tireless  and 
blooming.  She  was  leaning  with  both  hands  on  one 
of  the  trestles,  looking  up  at  Rachel.  She  had  a 
pair  of  dancing  gray  eyes,  a  nose  which  turned  up 
slightly,  and  a  chin  with  a  dimple  in  it.  She  had 
no  idea  that  her  hair  was  tumbled  or  her  cap 
crooked,  or  that  her  arms  and  hands  were  pretty 
and  rather  grimy.  Susy  could  not  help  getting 
tousled  and  spotty. 

Rachel,  as  spotless  as  when  she  had  first  donned 
cap  and  apron,  pointed  to  a  pile  of  laths  and  long, 
smooth  sticks.  "If  Will  Hedges  would  come,"  she 
said,  "we  could  start  the  framework  for  the  tables. 
He  would  make  the  janitor  let  us  leave  it  here." 

"I  know  it,"  said  Susy.  "But  he  was  afraid  he 
could  not  get  away  from  his  office.  I  wish  Mr. 
Desborouefh  would  have  an  attack  of  conscience  and 

O 

put  in  an  appearance !  He  did  go  to  the  committee 
meetings,  Ray;  may  be  he  's  better  than  we  think." 
"Don't  calculate  on  the  chance,  Sue,"  said  Ra 
chel.  "He  did  very  well,  as  chairman,  to  preside 
at  a  meeting  where  we  were  only  parcelled  off  into 
committees  and  discussed  general  plans.  But  he  'd 
be  awfully  in  the  way  here.  He  hasn't  even  an 
inkling  of  the  real  work  we  have  to  do.  Those 


GETTING  READY.  109 

meetings  didn't  amount  to  a  row  of  pins,  so  far  as 
he  was  concerned.  I  tell  thee,  our  own  hands  are 
the  only  ones  we  are  sure  of:  let 's  begin  the  frames 
ourselves,  Sue,  — we  can  rig  up  something." 

She  lifted  the  end  of  a  board  to  try  its  weight. 
"Could  we  carry  this  stuff  into  the  room,  think? 
If  we  got  it  over  near  the  anteroom,  the  janitor 
would  be  more  likely  to  let  us  leave  it  there.  Too 
heavy  for  thee?"  as  Susy  lifted  the  other  end  of  the 
board  she  still  held. 

"Not  a  bit!  Come,  it 's  as  dark  as  a  pocket  out 
here,"  Susy  said,  leading  the  way. 

One  by  one  they  carried  all  the  boards  and  trestles 
to  the  desired  place. 

"Now!  "  said  Rachel,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  as  they 
laid  down  the  last  one.  "Can  thee  help  me  saw  off 
some  pieces  to  stiffen  the  joints  of  the  trestles 
with?" 

"I  can't  saw,  but  I  can  hold  the  board  still  while 
thee  does  it,"  said  Susy.  The  difficulty  was  greater 
than  they  had  supposed,  and  Susy  called  her  sister 
Rebecca  to  their  assistance.  Their  awkwardness 
set  them  to  laughing  immoderately.  One  after  an 
other  of  them  tried  to  saw,  but  they  bungled  fear 
fully. 

"  I  could  do  it  beautifully,  if  the  saw  would  only 
behave  itself;  what  does  make  it  hitch  so?"  said 
Rachel,  when,  with  great  labor,  she  had  succeeded 
in  sawing  off  a  few  pieces.  She  straightened  her 
self  up  and  wiped  the  perspiration  from  her  face. 

"Oh,  there's  a  man!"  exclaimed  Rebecca,  as  if 
he  were  an  apparition. 


110  RACHEL  STAN  WOO  I). 

"Is  it  Will?  "  asked  Eachel,  her  face  lighting  up. 
But  she  gave  vent  to  an  "Oh !  "  of  disappointment, 
as  she  recognized  Horace  Desborough,  who  was 
speaking  to  her  mother. 

"It's  me  Lord  Juke!"  said  Susy.  Rebecca 
clapped  the  dust  from  her  hands  as  she  said,  "He 
is  too  high  and  mighty  to  join  this  crowd,  — he  '11 
go  away  faster  than  he  came,  when  he  sees  what  we 
are  at."  Then,  as  Rachel  and  Susy  were  preparing 
to  go  to  work  again,  she  exclaimed  in  a  low,  startled 
tone,  "Look  at  Aunt  Debby!  She  is  sending  him 
over  here,  as  sure  as  you  live!  Susanna  Morton, 
pull  down  thy  sleeves  and  unpin  thy  skirt!  Ray 
Stanwood,  drop  that  saw!"  She  reached  and 
snatched  the  cap  from  her  sister's  head.  Rebecca 
was  a  pink  of  propriety.  "Drop  it!  "  she  whispered 
again,  but  Rachel  held  on  to  the  saw,  even  while 
they  exchanged  greetings  with  Mr.  Desborough. 

Rebecca  made  pantomimic  signs  to  Susy  to  cover 
her  arms,  but  Susy's  tucked-up  sleeves  meant  busi 
ness,  and  she  deserted  the  field,  running  off  in 
search  of  hammer  and  nails,  without  waiting  for 
recognition  from  the  new-comer. 

Horace  was  stiff  and  embarrassed.  He  was  sur 
prised  to  find  the  girls  occupied  as  they  were.  Pie 
had  expected  to  find  Rachel  directing  others,  with 
that  queenly  dignity  of  hers,  and  he  had  come  to 
act  as  her  assistant.  But  to  discover  the  girls  act 
ually  grubbing  —  he  had  seen  the  saw  in  opera 
tion,  Hetty  Bixby  was  sweeping,  and  he  mistook 
Susy  at  first  for  a  servant  —  was  disappointing. 
He  wondered  if  he  could  make  a  courteous  excuse 


GETTING  READY.  Ill 

for  inability  to  perform  the  duties  expected  of  him. 
He  began:  "Miss  Stan  wood,  I  am  sorry,"  when  his 
eyes  met  that  honest,  straightforward  look  in  hers 
and  he  perceived,  at  the  same  time,  that  she  was 
very  tired. 

"I  did  not  expect  you,  Mr.  Desborough,"  she 
said.  "You  know  I  warned  you  to  repent  in 
season."  Her  manner  was  not  welcoming.  She 
was  wondering  how  the  work  would  get  on  if  he 
were  going  to  stay.  She  thought  he  would  disdain 
labor  of  this  kind,  even  on  his  own  part,  and  would 
think  it  unwomanly  for  her  and  the  others. 

"But  you  see  I  did  not  repent;  I  came,"  he  said, 
and  thought  how  pretty  she  looked  with  that  odd 
little  cap  on.  He  went  on:  "You  said  long  ago 
that  it  was  hard  to  get  gentlemen  to  help  you,  and 
you  promised  to  give  me  my  instructions,  —  now 
what  have  you  for  me  to  do?  " 

"I  am  afraid  I  misled  you,"  said  Rachel.  "You 
will  be  scandalized  at  what  we  have  to  do,  and  " 

Susy,  011  her  knees,  with  a  trestle  tilted  up  before 
her,  began  hammering  with  such  a  noise  that  it 
was  impossible  to  go  on.  Rachel  finished  in  panto 
mime,  holding  up  the  saw  and  pointing  to  Rebecca 
and  Susy,  herself  and  the  boards.  Susy's  hammer 
stopped.  The  three  girls  all  laughed  at  Horace's 
next  questions. 

"Where  are  your  workmen?  Can  I  summon 
anybody?" 

Rachel  threw  away  her  desire  to  conceal  the  sit 
uation  from  him,  and  decided  to  submit  to  the  tor 
ture  hardest  to  bear,  ridicule. 


112  liACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

"There  is  nobody  to  summon,  Mr.  Desborough, " 
she  said,  making  a  little  too  much  of  their  helpless 
ness.  "  We  are  our  own  workmen ;  Susy  Morton 
and  I  carried  all  this  lumber  from  the  outer  hall 
here,  and  I  have  just  succeeded  in  sawing  off  those 
bits.  There  is  nobody  else  to  do  our  work  well,  so 
we  are  not  open  to  criticism  for  doing  it  badly. 
Come,  Becky!"  She  reached  out  to  grasp  the 
board  again,  but  a  firm  hand  stopped  her.  Wil 
liam  Hedges,  who  had  approached  unobserved, 
quietly  motioned  her  aside,  and  in  his  hand  the 
saw  cut  through  the  line  ruled  upon  the  board  with 
such  crisp  quickness  that  Susy's  little  ringing  laugh 
was  barely  ended  as  the  bit  dropped  on  the  floor. 

There  was  a  flutter  among  the  girls.  "It  's 
Will!"  went,  like  a  password,  from  end  to  end  of 
the  room,  and  his  presence  was  felt  as  a  refreshing 
breeze  is  on  a  sultry  day. 

In  a  moment  the  work,  which  had  begun  to  flag, 
received  new  impetus,  a  gay  snatch  of  song  started 
somewhere,  a  new  atmosphere  pervaded  the  room. 

To  Horace  Desborough,  Kachel's  little  cry,  when 
Will  took  the  saw  from  her,  sounded  like  a  rescue. 
He  wished  that  he  had  been  quicker  and  had  caused 
it  himself.  He  felt  chagrined  without  knowing 
why.  Just  before  Will  Hedges  appeared,  he  had 
wished  for  deliverance,  but  it  was  not  agreeable, 
somehow,  to  have  it  come.  He  decided  now  that 
his  offer  to  help  should  not  be  set  aside.  He  ap 
proached  Kachel  and  said,  taking  off  his  gloves,  "I 
am  waiting  for  orders,  Miss  Stanwood." 

"That 's  it!     That 's  the  idea!  "  exclaimed  Will 


GETTING  READY.  113 

Hedges,  placing  a  chair  for  Rachel.  "Thee  sit 
here,  Rachel,  and  tell  us  what  to  do.  That  will  be 
thy  whole  responsibility.  Mr.  Desborough's  idea 
is  capital.  Here,  Becky,  catch!  "  throwing  his  hat 
to  her.  "Thee  take  care  of  that,  but  don't  go 
away.  If  I  've  got  to  saw,  I  can't  keep  a  straight 
line  unless  thee  looks  at  me.  Now  let  us  have  a  fair 
understanding  what  is  expected  of  Mr.  Desborough 
and  me.  But  first  we  must  see  if  everybody  is  at 
her  post."  He  took  a  quick  survey  of  the  room. 
"Mattie,"  to  a  girl  a-tiptoe  on  the  step-ladder, 
trying  to  make  some  leaves  stick  on  a  high  window 
pane,  "if  thee  doesn't  put  those  leaves  on  properly, 
thee  will  spoil  my  eye  for  color.  Annie,  give  those 
globes  an  extra  polish ;  thee  '11  be  responsible  for 
everybody's  complexion,  when  the  gas  is  lighted. 
Friend  Snow,  keep  thy  eye  on  all  the  girls  and 
superintend  generally,  until  I  get  round."  And  so 
on,  he  threw  little  sentences  here  and  there  until 
every  one,  old  and  young,  felt  the  touch  of  his  gay 
spirit.  "Where  is  Miss  Desborough?"  he  asked 
Horace,  suddenly  noticing  her  absence.  Horace 
answered  stiffly  that  she  was  at  home. 

"That  is  too  bad,"  said  Will,  upon  whom  the 
stiffness  was  thrown  away.  "  She  ought  to  be  here. 
You  must  tell  her  she  has  lost  an  opportunity  not  to 
be  recovered.  Make  her  feel  so  sorry  that  nothing 
will  prevent  her  from  coming  on  Monday  morning. 
Don't  let  her  lose  that  chance  too, — we  depend 
upon  you,  you  know." 

But  his  last  sentence  was  lost  in  the  noise  made 
by  Susy  Morton's  hammer.  He  looked  to  see  what 
she  was  doing. 


114  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

"Stop  thy  racket  a  minute,  Sue,"  he  said  comi 
cally,  "and  tell  a  fellow  what  that  trestle  is  kickiiio- 

& 

up  its  legs  at  thee  for.  It  '11  damage  thee  in  a  min 
ute." 

Susy  was  too  intent  to  know  that  he  was  laughing 
at  her. 

"They're  awfully  shaky,  Will,"  she  said  seri 
ously,  "and  I"  —striking  sideways  at  a  nail  which 
was  going  in  crooked.  "There!  Wait  till  I  just 
hammer  in  this  one,  and  then  I  '11  stop." 

With  a  face  red  from  exertion,  her  mouth  screwed 
up,  and  her  eyes  snapping  in  time  with  the  hammer, 
she  jerked  out  between  the  blows:  "I  'm  —  tighten 
ing  —  up  —  their  j  oint s  —  Oh !  " 

She  had  brought  the  hammer  down  upon  her 
thumb. 

"There!  I  said  so!  Is  it  much ?"  Will  asked 
with  concern. 

"No!"  said  Susy  scornfully,  alternately  shaking 
and  putting  her  thumb  in  her  mouth. 

"Permit  me,"  said  Horace,  possessing  himself  of 
her  hammer. 

"I  can  do  it  —  in  a  minute,"  said  Susy,  embar 
rassed  and  getting  up,  with  some  difficulty,  from  her 
cramped  position. 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  said  Horace  smiling, 
"but  perhaps  you  can  show  me  how,  uiiless  Miss 
Stanwood  has  other  orders  for  me." 

"If  you  will  make  the  trestles  strong  enough  to 
support  these  boards,  it  will  help  more  than  any 
thing,  Mr.  Desborough,"  said  Rachel,  pleased  at 
seeing  that  he  had  determined  to  make  himself  use 
ful. 


GETTING  READY.  115 

He  would  rather  have  changed  places  with  Will 
Hedges,  but  he  set  to  work.  His  task  would  have 
been  more  agreeable  if  he  had  noticed  Susy's  quick 
ness  to  see  what  he  wanted  and  her  brisk  way  of 
supplying  him  with  it,  now  hauling  a,  piece  of  board 
within  his  reach,  now  catching  at  a  rearing  trestle 
to  hold  it  steady,  now  giving  him  the  saw,  or  hold 
ing  out  her  pudgy  little  hand  full  of  nails. 

But  Horace  was  altogether  unconscious  of  the 
original  and  charming  little  personality  of  Susy 
Morton.  He  was  listening  to  Rachel  while  she  ex 
plained  to  Will  the  contrivances  she  wanted  made 
for  the  tables.  They  were  to  serve  both  decorative 
and  useful  purposes.  Rachel  was  delighted  with 
some  ingenious  suggestions  of  Will's. 

"That  will  be  just  the  thing;  make  it  that  way, 
Will,"  Horace  heard  her  say. 

Will  pretended  to  grumble.  "That's  the  way 
with  all  of  you  girls,  when  /come  along,"  he  said; 
"if  I  suggest  a  thing,  you  all  say,  'Do  it!  '  You 
exact  ten  times  as  much  of  a  fellow  as  he  's  good 
for.  But  no  matter!  Of  course  you  have  got  to 
have  what  you  want.  Stand  up  a  minute.  There 
—  so  high?  "  He  held  a  strip  of  wood  upright  and 
measured  how  far  above  her  head  the  thing  he  was 
going  to  make  should  reach.  It  was  pretty  work. 
Horace  would  have  liked  a  part  in  it.  It  grated 
upon  him  to  see  Rachel's  pleasure  in  whatever  her 
companion  did.  Horace  thought  he  was  himself 
entitled  to  a  share  of  her  attention.  What  kind  of 
man  was  this  Mr.  Hedges,  who  had  only  to  show 
himself  to  have  everybody  his  subject,  as  if  he  were 


116  EACHEL  STANWOOD. 

a  sovereign?  He  had  not  been  in  the  room  ten 
minutes  before  all  the  girls  were  buzzing  and  flutter 
ing  about  him,  coming  and  going  with  questions  and 
consultations,  and  seeming  to  catch  inspiration  from 
his  lightest  word.  And  they  all  called  him  "Will," 
as  if  he  belonged  to  them.  That  was  a  part  of  the 
fun  of  being  a  Quaker,  Horace  thought.  He  won 
dered  why  the  girls  never  forgot  to  give  him  his 
title.  He  had  been  giving  his  assistance  here  and 
there  among  them,  after  propping  up  the  trestles, 
and  it  was  odd  to  notice  that  they  invariably  called 
him  "Mr.  Desborough."  Some  of  them  said  "thee" 
to  him,  but  Rachel  remembered  always  to  say 
"you."  He  did  not  care  to  have  it  otherwise,  but 
he  wondered  why  they  did  not  forget. 

Presently  he  had  what  he  wanted.  Will  was 
called  upon  to  settle  a  dispute  with  the  janitor,  who 
was  getting  noisy  in  his  objections  to  something, 
and  Horace  went  to  join  Rachel. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  Miss  Stanwood?  "  he 
asked,  laying  his  hand  upon  a  fanciful  rack  which 
Will  had  been  making.  She  did  not  seem  to  hear ; 
she  was  wratching  Will. 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  find  me  a  poor  substitute 
for  your  friend,  Mr.  Hedges,  but  I  will  do  my 
best,"  he  said,  his  tone  betraying  a  shadow  of  an 
noyance. 

Rachel  was  looking  toward  the  disturbance  at  the 
far  end  of  the  room  and  her  eyes  deepened  with 
some  anxiety. 

"  Can  I  be  of  service  there  ?  Would  you  like  me 
to  join  Mr.  Pledges?  "  Horace  asked. 


GETTING  READY.  117 

«Oh,  no  — not  for  anything!"  Rachel  answered 
quickly,  frowning  at  the  suggestion.  In  a  moment 
her  brow  cleared  and  she  turned  to  him  saying,  "It 
will  be  all  right  now.  Hetty  and  Martha  wanted 
to  clear  that  corner  out  because  they  are  to  have 
their  table  in  it,  and  the  janitor  frightened  them  by 
interfering  and  scolding  at  them,  that  was  all." 

"The  impudent  rascal!  "  exclaimed  Horace  indig 
nantly.  "What  does  he  mean  ?  " 

"He  wants  to  annoy  us  all  he  can,  I  suppose," 
said  Rachel.  "He  is  holding  on,  like  grim  death, 
to  his  poor  little  point  of  not  allowing  us  to  leave 
anything  here  until  Monday,  and  Will  has  gone  to 
deal  with  him." 

"He  ought  to  be  dismissed!  I  'd  like  to  go  over 
there  and  help,  myself,  to  put  him  out,"  said 
Horace. 

"Oh,  then  stay  here, —do!"  exclaimed  Rachel 
laughing.  "Your  method  would  not  work  at  all." 

"Why  not?  "  asked  Horace.  "I  'd  have  the  fel 
low  out  of  the  way  and  request  the  proprietors  of  the 
place  to  send  you  somebody  who  would  obey  orders, 
not  give  them.  As  chairman  of  this  committee  I 
might  act  with  some  authority,  you  know.  I  have 
not  been  of  much  use  in  any  other  direction,  why 
can't  you  let  me  do  you  this  service?" 

"Because  the  service  would  amount  to  more  than 
you  would  bargain  for,"  said  Rachel,  smiling  with 
superior  wisdom.  "Come!"  she  said,  taking  hold 
of  Will's  rack,  "I  shall  have  to  give  you  something 
to  do,  to  keep  you  out  of  mischief.  If  you  will 
smooth  off  these  rough  edges  with  your  penknife,  " 


118  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

showing  him  jagged  places  Will  had  left,  "you  will 
do  us  a  far  better  kind  of  service  than  you  would 
accomplish  by  going  over  there." 

Horace  opened  his  knife  and  began  cutting  while 
he  said,  bantering,  — 

"I  obey  orders,  of  course,  but  you  seem  to  have 
very  little  faith  in  me,  Miss  Stanwood.  I  should 
like  to  know  what  you  think  I  would  accomplish 
over  there." 

"Well,  in  the  first  place,"  said  Rachel,  gayly 
reckoning  on  her  fingers,  "  you  could  n't  dismiss 
the  man  any  farther  than  the  cellar.  He  would 
go  there  as  fast  as  his  feet  could  carry  him  and 
turn  off  the  gas,  as  he  threatened  to  do  a  while  ago. 
Next,  he  would  stick  to  his  point  of  not  letting  us 
leave  any  traps  here;  next,  his  employers  would 
probably  like  him  all  the  better  for  knowing  how  to 
treat  us  abolitionists.  They  would  take  his  part, 
decide  that  they  ought  not  to  have  rented  us  the 
hall  (they  did  not  want  to  do  it,  you  know),  and 
decline  to  let  us  have  it  for  our  next  convention,  as 
we  hope  to  do.  That  is,  — yes,  it  is  all  I  think  of 
that  you  could  do  for  us.  Sue,  can  thee  think  of 
anything  else?" 

"No,"  said  Susy,  "not  in  so  short  a  time;  but  if 
Mr.  Desborough  comes  next  week" 

She  stopped  and  looked  so  comically  scared  that 
Horace  and  Rachel  laughed  outright. 

"  Then"  said  Horace,  "there  is  no  knowing  what 
I  might  accomplish !  I  '11  stay  away,  Miss  Mor 
ton." 

"Oh,   how  splendid!"   Susy  cried  out   suddenly 


GETTING  READY.  119 

and  sprang  away,  leaving  them  to  break  out  again 
with  redoubled  mirth  at  her  surprising  maladroit- 
ness.  She  had  not  heard  Mr.  Desborough's  remark, 
but  had  caught  sight  of  something  which*  showed 
that  the  dispute  at  the  further  end  of  the  room  was 
settled  favorably. 

"There! "  said  Rachel  in  a  moment,  grave  again, 
pointing  to  the  janitor,  who  was  lifting  a  heavy 
settee  upon  his  shoulder.  "That 's  what  we  accom 
plish  by  Will's  method.  He  is  going  to  have  every 
thing  just  as  he  wants  it,  and  the  janitor  is  going 
to  help,  instead  of  fighting  him." 

"He  seems  to  have  his  way  about  everything," 
said  Horace.  "I  wish  you  would  tell  me  the  secret 
of  his  power." 

"Nobody  can  do  that,"  said  Rachel,  following 
Will  with  admiring  eyes.  "Will  could  not  tell  you 
himself.  It  is  his  way,  that  is  all.  Everybody 
wants  to  do  what  he  asks  them  to.  It  is  always  so. 
I  think,"  she  knitted  her  brows  and  seemed  to  for 
get  to  whom  she  was  talking,  as  she  went  to  analyz 
ing  Will's  power.  "I  think  it  is  because  he  meets 
everybody,  rich  and  poor,  good  and  bad,  on  equal 
terms.  He  holds  his  own  with  the  best,  and  he 
treats  the  worst  as  if,  with  their  disadvantages,  he 
might  be  like  them.  He  talked  quietly  with  that 
man  for  a  while,  and  then  I  saw  him  lift  one  end 
of  a  heavy  bench.  The  man  did  not  move  for  a 
minute,  and  neither  did  Will.  I  could  not  hear  a 
word,  of  course,  and  it  is  too  dark  to  see  their  faces, 
but  I  know,  as  well  as  if  I  had  been  on  the  spot  to 
see  and  hear,  that  if  there  is  one  single  atom  of  the 


120  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

gentleman  in  that  janitor,  William  Hedges  brought 
it  out.  The  man  is  doing  the  lion's  share  of  the 
work  now." 

Horace  was  not  looking  at  either  Will  or  the 
janitor;  he  was  watching  Rachel  while  she  talked. 
"Is  she  growing  eloquent?"  he  thought.  He  did 
not  care  for  her  summary  of  Will's  character.  He 
wanted  a  little  of  her  attention  for  himself.  Why 
was  it  that  he  could  never  occupy  her  thoughts  ?  So 
far  in  their  acquaintance,  he  had  never  caught  more 
than  flashes  of  interest  from  her.  And  he  wanted 
more.  She  was  different  from  any  girl  whom  he 
had  ever  known;  he  had  never  felt  a  girl's  character 
as  he  felt  hers.  It  was  more  worth  while  to  try  to 
win  her  good  opinion,  and  he  could  scarcely  get  her 
attention  for  a  minute.  Whenever  he  did  so,  she 
seemed  to  think  and  talk  about  somebody  else.  He 
had  certainly  tried  to  please  her;  that  was  all  he 
was  there  for.  A  pain  took  possession  somewhere 
in  his  heart,  and  he  was  surprised  and  angry  at 
himself  for  feeling  it.  He  watched  Rachel  silently 
for  a  few  minutes.  She  was  sitting  listlessly  now, 
looking  fagged,  but  content.  Her  eyes  were 
dreamily  following  Will,  upon  whom  she  seemed  to 
have  laid  all  her  burdens.  She  seemed  unconscious 
of  Horace,  or  perhaps  indifferent.  Horace  tried 
not  to  care  which.  He  set  to  remembering  his  cau 
tions  to  Grace  about  cultivating  an  intimacy  with 
these  people.  They  were,  what  his  mother  called 
them,  "a  queer  set,"  with  their  "thees"  and 
"thys,"  their  "Susys"  and  "Beckys"  and  "Het 
ty  s,"  and  apparently  useless  surnames.  He  was  a 


GETTING  READY.  121 

fool  to  have  come  and  was  thankful  he  had  kept 
Grace  away.  Imagine  her  on  her  knees,  hammer 
ing  at  trestles,  or  allowing  that  "Hannah"  woman 
to  set  her  to  sweeping  up  chips  in  a  cloud  of  dust, 
as  she  was  making  Hetty  Somebody  do  now !  Yes, 
Horace  was  glad  that  Grace  was  safe  at  home  this 
afternoon,  arid  he  would  do  all  he  could  to  keep 
her  away  from  these  girls ;  she  should  let  them  and 
their  fair  alone,  if  he  could  manage  it.  He  tried 
to  include  Rachel  in  his  contempt,  but  it  was  impos 
sible. 

"Hurrah!  "  cried  Susy  Morton,  as  she  came  run 
ning,  with  Annie  and  Martha  Quimby,  toward  Ra 
chel.  "It  is  all  settled,  and  we  are  to  leave  every 
thing  we  choose  to  carry  there,  in  the  anteroom! 
Take  hold,  somebody!  It 's  six  o'clock  and  we  've 
got  to  hurry."  She  caught  up  one  end  of  a  board, 
Annie  Quimby  took  the  other,  and  they  were  tramp 
ing  off  with  it  before  Horace  could  interfere. 

"Don't  worry!  There  are  plenty  for  all  of  us, 
and  you  can  join  the  procession  with  another,  if  you 
like,"  Rachel  called  back  to  him  gayly,  as  she  and 
Martha  followed  the  other  girls  with  a  second  plank. 
There  was  nothing  for  Horace  to  do  but  pick  up  a 
third  one  and  carry  it  by  himself.  A  bevy  of  young 
people  came  to  help  get  all  the  lumber  and  fixings 
stowed  away. 

Half  the  gas  suddenly  extinguished,  warned 
them  that  it  was  time  to  vacate  the  premises,  and 
for  a  few  minutes  there  was  running  and  hurrying, 
bustling  and  laughing  while  the  procession  of 
planks  disappeared  into  the  anteroom,  interfered 


122  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

with  by  Delphina,  who  careered  and  bumped  into 
everybody  with  trestles.  The  elder  ladies  went 
about  collecting  things  in  handbags,  and  returning 
what  they  had  borrowed  to  the  mollified  but  impa 
tient  janitor. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

GRACE   DESBOROUGH. 

WHEN  Horace  reached  home,  his  sister  Grace  met 
him  in  the  hall.  Springing  out  of  the  parlor,  in 
her  soft,  pale  blue  gown,  and  her  daintiness,  she 
was  an  amazing  contrast  to  the  girls  whom  Horace 
had  seen  in  Nelson  Hall.  Horace  wanted  her  to  be 
as  different  as  possible  and  answered  her  greeting 
with  unusual  warmth. 

"Oh,  how  late  you  are!"  she  said,  reaching  her 
face  up  to  him,  under  the  gaslight. 

"Not  too  late  for  your  welcome,  little  sister,"  he 
said,  kissing  her.  "Take  care,  dear,  I  'm  afraid 
my  coat  is  dusty.  I  thought  you  would  be  at  din 
ner." 

"Dinner  is  to  be  half  an  hour  late,  and  I  am 
glad,"  she  said,  insisting  upon  helping  him  off  with 
his  coat.  "I  don't  mind  the  dust,  I'm  too  impa 
tient  to  hear  all  about  it.  You  did  go,  or  you  'd 
have  been  at  home  long  ago.  Was  it  fun?  Did 
you  help  ever  so  much?  " 

"I  contrived  to  do  a  little,"  said  her  brother, 
taking  off  his  gloves.  "Not  much,  though,  com 
pared  with  the  rest  of  the  crowd." 

"Did  you  ever  see  people  work  so  fast,  Horace? 
I  feel  like  a  pigmy  beside  them,"  she  said. 


124  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

"Where  have  you  ever  seen  them  work?  "  asked 
Horace  in  surprise. 

"I  went  to  the  fair  sewing-circle  twice  when  it 
met  at  the  Stan  woods',  don't  you  remember?  I 
think  you  were  away,  though,  one  of  the  times,  at 
least,"  said  Grace.  "I  wanted  to  go  awfully  this 
afternoon,  but  mamma  thought  I  ought  not.  She 
declared  I  'd  be  out  of  my  element,  but  I  know 
I  would  not.  I  could  have  helped,  couldn't  I? 
Weren't  there  plenty  of  things  I  might  have 
done?" 

"Oh  yes,  plenty,"  said  her  brother  with  irony. 
"You  could  have  made  any  selection  you  liked  from 
the  whole  range  of  occupations  suitable  for  a  char 
woman." 

"I  'd  have  liked  that,"  said  Grace  laughing. 
"What  were  they  doing?  " 

"Yes,"  said  her  brother,  "you  might  have  grubbed 
in  any  direction  you  liked,  or  have  gone  farther 
and  practiced  carpentry  with  that  dumpy,  round- 
faced  Susy  Something-or-other,  —  I  forget  her 
name,  —  who  tried  to  hammer  her  fingers  off  and 
whose  hands  looked  like  —  like  mine!"  He  held 
out  his  work-stained  hands  for  her  to  look  at. 

"What  fun!"  said  Grace,  steadying  herself  by 
the  banisters  and  tilting  lightly,  first  on  one  foot 
and  then  on  the  other. 

"Or  you  might  have  reveled  in  clouds  of  dust, 
with  a  broom,  under  the  direction  of  fc  Hannah, '- 
I  don't  know  her  name  either,  but  I  know  she  is 
responsible  for  getting  me  into  all  this.     What  is 
her  name,  Grace?     All  the  old  women  looked  alike 


GRACE  DESBOROUG1L  125 

in  their  uniforms,  but  I  ought  to  remember  Han 
nah." 

"Oh,  Horace!  "  exclaimed  Grace,  laughing  again, 
and  obtusely  slow  to  perceive  the  tinge  of  contempt 
in  his  remarks.  "The  girls  all  call  her  'Aunt  Han 
nah,  '  and  she  is  perfectly  lovely.  Rachel  is  so  fond 
of  her.  They  call  Mrs.  Stanwood  'Aunt  Debby;' 
isn't  that  a  quaint,  pretty  name?  " 

"I  don't  like  it  so  well  as  'Tabitha,'"  Horace 
said  dryly.  "There  was  an  old  lady  named  that, 
who  stalked  around  like  a  grenadier,  —  I  preferred 
her  to  any  of  them,  excepting  Hannah!  Hannah  's 
the  one  who  has  charge  of  me,  and  I  'm  going  to  be 
loyal  to  Hannah !  You  have  n't  told  me  who  she  is." 

"Why,  she's  Rachel  Stanwood's  aunt,"  Grace 
said,  enjoying  his  affected  enthusiasm.  "She  is  as 
lovely  as  she  can  be,  too.  She  says  'dear,'  and 
'my  child,'  so  sweetly  to  me  that  I  was  just  de- 
lio-hted  once  when  she  asked  me  to  call  her  'Aunt 

O 

Hannah,'  like  the  others." 

"Well,  I  hope  you  had  the  dignity  to  refrain 
from  such  familiarity,  however  much  you  might  en 
joy  it! "  said  Horace.  "You,  at  least,  can  afford  to 
call  her  by  her  title,  if  she  has  one ;  or  are  you  go 
ing  to  turn  Quaker,  with  your  unaccountable  furor 
for  that  Miss  Stanwood?  " 

Grace  burst  into  a  merry  laugh  as  she  caught  his 
arm,  laid  her  cheek  against  it,  and  stroked  him  as 
if  he  were  a  do^.  "Poor  fellow!  Poor  fellow!" 

O 

she  said.  "He  had  a  hard  time,  didn't  he?  Were 
you  afraid,  dear,  that  'Aunt  Hannah  '  would  begin 
to  call  you  'Horace  '  ?  " 


126  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

"It  would  not  surprise  me  at  all  if  she  did,"  he 
said,  ubut  I  shall  make  an  effort  to  preserve  a  little 
of  my  family  identity,  if  I  see  much  of  those  people. 
Grace,  has  that  woman  a  surname,  or  don't  you 
wish  me  to  know  it?  " 

"Her  name  is  Morton,  and  she  is  your  'round- 
faced '  Susy's  mother,  Horace;  don't  you  like  her 
better  for  knowing  that?  "  said  his  sister. 

"I  don't  claim  any  proprietorship  in  the  daughter, 
and  my  chief  interest  in  the  mother  is  in  getting  out 
of  her  clutches.  I  shall  withdraw  from  the  position 
in  which  she  has  placed  me  as  soon  as  possible," 
said  Horace  severely. 

"Well!  "  sighed  Grace.  "I  wish  I  had  been  in 
your  place."  Then  she  asked,  a  little  anxiously, 
hoping  that  he  would  recall  something  agreeable, 
"Wasn't  Rachel  beautiful,  and  didn't  she  work 
harder  than  anybody?" 

"Yes,  — like  a  day -laborer,  with  all  the  rest  of 
her  tribe,"  Horace  said.  "I  never  saw  such  grub 
bing  and  drudging,  sawing  and  wood  -  chopping 
among  girls  who  call  themselves  ladies,  in  all  my 
life,  and  I  hope  I  shan't  see  any  more  of  it!  " 

He  was  trying  to  feel  all  that  his  words  said,  but 
he  could  not. 

Grace  resented  his  last  speech.  "Now  I  know 
that  you  are  bantering,  Horace,"  she  exclaimed. 
"You  don't  mean  one  word  of  that  —  you  know  you 
don't.  What  time  are  you  going  on  Monday?  " 

"I  don't  think  I  shall  go  at  all  on  Monday,"  he 
said,  starting  upstairs. 

Her  countenance  fell.     She  backed  up  against  the 


GRACE  DESBOEOUGH.  127 

door-moulding,  with  her  hands  behind  her,  and  asked 
anxiously:  "Won't  you  go  with  me?  I  'm  going  to 
help  dress  the  tables." 

"Indeed,  I  hope  you  '11  do  no  such  thing,  Grace," 
he  said,  stopping  and  frowning  down  at  her.  "An 
anti-slavery  fair  is  no  place  for  you  at  all.  Wait 
and  talk  it  over  with  me  by  and  by !  I  must  get 
ready  now  for  dinner."  He  went  upstairs  with  his 
mind  in  perplexity,  the  real  picture  in  it  at  variance 
with  the  one  he  had  presented  to  his  sister.  He 
wanted  to  wipe  out  the  impressions  of  this  afternoon 
and  get  back  to  his  original  attitude  toward  the 
Stan  woods.  He  wanted  to  feel  as  he  had  felt  before 
he  went  to  that  evening  company  at  their  house. 
Was  that  only  a  month  ago  ?  It  did  not  seem  pos 
sible;  that  evening  was  an  era  in  his  life.  He 
could,  at  any  time,  see,  in  his  mind,  Eachel  Stan- 
wood,  just  as  she  stood  before  him  when  Grace  in 
troduced  them.  And  then,  as  she  turned  her  face 
to  him  with  that  sudden,  glad  expression,  when  she 
was  told  that  he  was  chairman  of  her  committee! 
At  those  little  committee  meetings  too,  how  earnest 
she  had  been,  how  ready  with  suggestions !  What 
fun  it  had  been  to  watch  her  when  knotty  points 
were  discussed,  and  then  see  her  face  clear  again  as 
they  were  settled !  And  how  she  had  spoken  up  with 
her  ready,  "I  will  see  to  that,"  when  it  was  asked 
how  this,  that,  and  the  other  thing  was  to  be  accom 
plished.  George!  he  had  never  supposed  she  was 
going  to  put  her  own  hands  to  the  labor,  though ! 
How  she  had  tugged  at  that  sawing  business !  Awk 
wardly  enough,  but  doing  what  had  to  be  done. 


128  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

Yes,  she  had  given  him  a  piece  of  her  character  when 
she  would  not  have  any  allowance  made  for  her  bad 
work.  There  was  cno  one  to  do  it  well,  so  she  was 
doing  it  badly  '  -  that  girl  could  do  anything, 
and  there  was  no  possibility  of  her  doing  it  badly. 
What  a  power  she  was !  And  here  he  was  trying 
to  feel  as  he  had  done  before  he  had  looked  into  her 
face  and  learned  all  this !  And  he  had  been  only 
just  now  saying  all  kinds  of  disagreeable  things 
which  gave  a  wrong  impression  of  his  feeling.  He 
was  grateful  to  his  sister  for  not  taking  him  up  on 
those  phrases  when  he  alluded  to  her  "furor  for  those 
people,"  to  "that  Miss  Stanwood"  and  "all  the  rest 
of  her  tribe" 

Yet  at  dinner  he  tried  to  make  a  ridiculous  story 
of  his  afternoon  in  Nelson  Hall.  He  jested  with 
his  father  over  what  he  called  "a  crew  of  women  and 
girls  under  a  good  -  natured  young  captain  named 
Hedges,  who  was  wildly  popular  and  who  tore  around 
frantically,  repairing  their  bad  carpentry  and  set 
tling  rows  with  a  grouty  Irishman.  His  wit  enter 
tained  the  rest  of  his  audience,  but,  for  the  first  time 
within  his  recollection,  it  was  wasted  upon  Grace. 

His  little  sister  Eloise  was  particularly  interested 
and  amused.  She  considered  Horace  a  model  in  all 
things,  and  it  was  a  delight  to  her  to  catch  his  spirit 
of  banter  and  ridicule  and  to  follow  in  his  wake. 
She  had  spent  the  afternoon  at  dancing-school  and 
was  somewhat  more  airy  than  usual,  both  in  manner 
and  costume.  There  was  a  girl  in  her  class  who 
dressed  very  elegantly  and  who  had  a  trick  of  draw 
ing  herself  up  and  gently  rolling  her  head  to  one 


GRACE  DESBOROUGH.  129 

side.  Eloise  had  practiced  the  pose  a  little,  and 
adopted  it  now  as  a  suitable  one  while  she  said: 
"Dear  me!  nobody  at  dancing-school  would  ever 
dream  of  calling  me  anything  but  4Miss  Desbor- 
ough;  '  what  would  M.  De  Gaboulet  think  if  ;  the 
Hannah  woman  ' 

"Eloise!"  exclaimed  Grace,  shocked,  and  Mrs. 
Desborough  also  called  the  child  to  order. 

Eloise  was  disappointed,  and  with  a  little  con 
temptuous  sniff,  asked  to  be  excused.  She  did  not 
care  about  dessert,  and  went  away  to  carry  her  pose 
and  her  brother's  amusing  stories  to  her  mother's 
maid. 

"  The  little  prig !  Who  guessed  she  was  so  atten 
tive?"  Horace  asked,  when  she  had  gone,  while  his 
father  was  remarking  upon  the  big  ears  of  little 
pitchers. 

"  She  needs  the  refining  polish  of  dancing-school ; 
I  am  glad  the  lessons  have  begun,"  was  Mrs.  Des- 
borough's  comment.  "Only,"  she  added,  for 
Grace's  benefit,  "we  must  be  most  careful  about 
her  other  associations.  Gracie  dear,  I  will  say  no 
thing  about  your  friend,  Miss  Stanwood,  but  I  do 
hope  the  intimacy  between  our  family  and  hers  will 
go  no  farther.  I  am  sorry  to  learn  that  the  little 
Stanwood  girl  —  I  forget  her  name  —  goes  to  Mr. 
Abbott's  school.  Why  could  n't  they  have  sent  her 
somewhere  else?  Here,  the  first  thing  I  knew,  the 
other  afternoon,  she  was  going  to  take  Eloise  to  her 
'Aunt  Maria's'  to  get  her  doll's  cheeks  painted! 
Eloise  wanted  to  take  a  doll  too  for  this  'Aunt 
Maria'  to  paint!  Of  course  I  wouldn't  allow  it. 


130  EACREL  STAN  WOOD. 

Dear  knows  who  the  aunt  is,  or  where  she  lives,  or 
whether  she  is  black  or  white!  The  Stanwoods' 
cook  is  as  black  as  a  coal  and  they  call  her  'Aunt ' 
something!  I  am  sorry,  Grace,  that  you  have 
helped  to  bring  Eloise  and  the  Stan  wood  child  to 
gether.  I  think,  but  for  your  intimacy  with  the 
elder  sister,  Eloise  might  have  selected  a  different 
companion  at  school." 

"The  little  girl's  name  is  Elizabeth,  mamma," 
said  Grace,  "and  I  did  not  bring  her  and  Eloise  to 
gether  ;  Mr.  Jacob  Abbott  did  it.  He  is  writing 
some  more  Franconia  stories,  and  he  reads  them 
aloud  to  the  scholars,  up  in  his  study,  at  recess. 
The  girls  have  delightful  times  there.  Kachel  says 
that  the  reward  which  all  of  them,  old  and  young, 
value  most,  is  permission  to  visit  Mr.  Jacob  Abbott 
in  his  study.  He  is  so  lovely  to  them  that  the  chil 
dren  follow  him  upstairs  and  down,  whenever  they 
get  a  chance.  He  has  proofs  of  the  illustrations 
of  his  books,  and  lets  the  best-behaved  draw  lots 
for  them.  Elizabeth  Stan  wood  gets  a  good  many, 
and  she  gave  some  to  Eloise.  She  is  a  nice  little 
girl,  mamma,  and  her  Aunt  Maria  is  as  pleasant 
with  children  as  Mr.  Jacob  Abbott  is.  The  chance 
to  be  with  her  is  a  privilege  for  anybody." 

"Have  you  been  to  see  her,  Grace?  Are  you  in 
timate  not  only  with  the  Stanwoods,  but  with  all 
their  relatives?"  asked  Horace. 

Grace  answered  coldly,  "Yes,  I  have  been  there, 
and  I  hope  I  may  be  invited  to  go  again." 

Mrs.  Desborough  heaved  a  hopeless  little  sigh, 
and  looked  across  the  table  at  her  husband. 


GRACE  DESBOEOUGH.  131 

"What  is  her  name,  and  where  does  she  live, 
Grace?"  her  father  asked  encouragingly.  "Tell  us 
all  about  it,  my  child ;  it  is  only  fair  to  give  you  an 
opportunity  to  tell  us  about  your  friends." 

"You  saw  her,  papa,  at  the  Stanwoods'  party," 
said  Grace.  "She  is  Mrs.  Lydia  Maria  Child,  and 
she  lives  with  the  old  Quaker  gentleman  and  his 
wife  whom  you  pointed  out  to  me  that  day  I  went 
down-town  with  you,  —  the  old  gentleman  in  gray 
short-clothes,  with  silver  buckles.  I  saw  him  again 
the  day  I  went  to  Mrs.  Child's  room  with  Rachel. 
You  said  he  looked  like  Bonaparte,  but  his  face 
is  a  thousand  times  nobler;  don't  you  think  so, 
papa?" 

"Well,  yes,  I  must  say  I  do,  Gracie,"  said  her 
father.  "I '11  have  to  own  up  to  that  and  to  the 
sweetness  of  his  wife's  face,  under  her  'sugar-scoop  ' 
bonnet."  He  smiled,  with  a  pleasant  recollection, 
as  he  explained  across  the  table  to  his  wife:  "Their 
name  is  Holly  and  they  are  a  quaint-looking  old 
couple,  my  dear.  I  have  often  heard  them  called 
'Father  '  and  'Mother  '  Holly." 

"Mrs.  Child  calls  them  so,  but  Rachel  says  only 
'Friend  '  when  she  speaks  of  them,"  Grace  said. 

"  Well, -  you  were  going  to  tell  us  about  Mrs. 
Child,"  said  Mrs.  Desborough,  with  an  expression 
as  if  she  were  not  going  to  approve  of  Mrs.  Child  if 
she  could  help  it.  "We  remember  very  well  what 
she  looks  like ;  tell  us  what  sort  of  person  she  is, 
and  how  she  lives.  If  you  are  going  to  visit  there, 
I  should  like  to  know." 

"Oh,  mamma!"  said  Grace  appealingly,  "she  is 


132  EACH  EL  STAN  WOOD. 

as  lovely  as  she  can  be.  The  house  is  on 

Street,  near  the  Bowery,  and  her  room"  — 

"Is  a  bower,  of  course,"  said  Horace  laughing. 
"The  mention  of  it  suggests  a  popular  song  of  in 
vitation  to  young  ladies  who  live  on  the  Bowery  to 
come  out  'and  dance  by  the  light  of  the  moon.' 
You  see,  mamma  dear,  that  the  house  is  situated  in 
a  romantic  part  of  the  city." 

"  Oh,  Horace,  what  a  tease  you  can  be  when  you 
try,"  said  Grace,  declining  the  fruit  which  her 
brother  offered.  The  watfer  had  been  dismissed 
and  they  were  lingering  over  the  fruit  and  coffee. 

"Excuse  me,  little  girl,"  said  Horace  courteously. 
"It  was  rather  too  bad  of  me,  I  confess,  and  if  you 
will  go  on,  I  '11  promise  not  to  interrupt  you  again. 
1  would  really  like  to  know  what  the  house  of  a 
genuine  Quaker  looks  like  inside.  The  Stanwoods 
are  only  demi-semi-Quakers,  you  know." 

Grace  was  quiet  for  a  moment  or  so.  It  was  a 
little  hard  for  her,  in  an  atmosphere  of  criticism,  to 
talk  about  people  who  had  inspired  her  with  rever 
ence.  She  would  rather  have  changed  the  subject, 
or  better  still,  have  remained  quiet.  But  she  felt 
on  the  defense  of  her  friends,  and  had  a  great  long 
ing  to  make  her  father,  at  least,  understand;  so, 
when  she  was  asked  again  about  the  house,  she 
said :  — 

"It  is  the  most  peaceful,  quiet  one  I  was  ever  in, 
that  is  all.  It  is  so  quiet  that  you  can  hear  the 
parlor  clock  tick,  as  soon  as  the  front  door  is  closed. 
There  is  nothing  else  about  it  except  that  everything 
is  as  spotless  and  pure  as  the  white  kerchief  the  old 


GEACE  DESBOROUGH.  133 

Quaker  lady  wears  crossed  upon  her  bosom.  There 
are  a  very  few  engravings  on  the  walls,  and  I  think 
the  only  things  in  the  house  in  the  way  of  ornaments 
are  the  buckles  on  the  old  gentleman's  shoes.  Don't 
laugh,  Horace ;  you  would  not  change  a  thing  there, 
if  you  could.  Then  you  go  upstairs  and  step  into 
Mrs.  Child's  parlor  and  it  is  as  different  as  it  can 
be.  You  know  her  stories  are  full  of  children? 
She  loves  children  so  much  that  she  has  her  parlor 
full  of  pictures  and  images  of  them.  There  is  a 
large  engraving  of  the  Sistine  Madonna  over  the 
piano,  and  the  walls  are  covered  with  pictures  of 
cherubs  and  angels.  There  are  Raphael's  children, 
Murillo's  children,  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's  children, 
everybody's  children.  And  in  one  corner  there  is 
an  oil  painting  of  a  dirty-faced  little  beggar,  laugh 
ing.  It  is  life  size,  and  laughs  so  that  you  have  to 
laugh  back  when  you  look  at  it.  Then  there  are 
images  and  statuettes  of  children.  Mrs.  Child  tells 
the  children  who  visit  her  stories  about  them  just  as 
if  they  were  alive.  Rachel  says  the  room  is  like 
Paradise  to  her  little  brother  and  sister,  and  that, 
when  they  are  cross,  she  and  her  mother  like  to 
send  them  there." 

"Pleasant  for  Mrs.  Child! "  remarked  Horace. 

"Yes,  it  is  pleasant  for  her,"  said  Grace,  with 
some  spirit.  "Nothing  pleases  her  more  than 
changing  an  unhappy  child  into  a  happy  one.  I 
forgot  to  say  that  there  is  a  row  of  prisms  hung  in 
one  of  the  windows,  and  the  sun,  shining  through 
them,  makes  the  colors  dance  so  that  one  day  lit 
tle  Dick  Stanwood  cried  out,  as  soon  as  the  door 


134  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

was  opened,  'Hullo!  I've  climbed  into  the  rain 
bow!'" 

"A  very  pretty  account,  Grace,  very  pretty  in 
deed!"  said  her  father.  "But  you  must  not  give 
Mrs.  Child  all  the  glory.  I  fancy  if  any  cross- 
grained  children  should  meet  the  old  gentleman  with 
the  silver  buckles,  on  the  way  upstairs,  their  ill  tem 
per  would  stand  a  poor  chance  of  lasting  until  they 
reached  her  room." 

"Better  reconsider,  mamma,  and  allow  Eloise  to 
go  there  as  often  as  she  gets  invited,"  said  Horace. 

"No,  I  think  not,"  replied  Mrs.  Desborough. 
"Grace's  story  is  very  pretty,  as  your  father  says, 
and  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  influence  of  the  people 
over  children  is  charming,  but,"  with  her  chin  punc 
tuating  a  comma,  "there  are  considerations  not  to 
be  overlooked.  If  we  could  confine  ourselves  to  the 
simple  personality  of  the  people,  it  would  do  very 
well,  but  that  cannot  be.  If  we  accepted  their 
ideas  upon  one  subject,  we  should  find  ourselves  tak 
ing  them  on  others,  and  that  would  be  dangerous." 

"You  mentioned  a  piano  in  Mrs.  Child's  parlor, 
Grace,"  said  her  brother.  "I  thought  Quakers  ob 
jected  to  music  and  never  allowed  musical  instru 
ments  in  their  houses." 

"I  asked  Rachel  about  that,"  answered  Grace, 
"and  she  says  that  whatever  their  own  principles 
are  in  such  matters,  they  never  interfere  with  those 
of  others.  Ole  Bull's  violin  was  on  the  piano.  He 
often  plays  there,  and  Friend  Holly  does  n't  object 
at  all.  On  the  contrary,  he  likes  to  hear  it  once  in 
a  while.  Once  when  he  went  up  to  Mrs.  Child's 


GRACE  DESBOROUGH.  135 

parlor,  Ole  Bull  was  there,  just  taking  the  violin 
out  of  its  case,  and  Friend  Holly  said  to  him :  "  Ole, 
if  thee  will  play  that  banjo,  give  us  'St.  Patrick's 
Day  in  the  Morning. ' ' 

"Oho!"  exclaimed  Horace.  "Then  his  princi 
ples  do  not  forbid  him  to  enjoy  music,  when  he 
gets  a  chance." 

Grace  was  not  accustomed  to  talk  at  length  upon 
any  subject,  but  she  felt  that  she  must  correct  the 
impression  that  her  story  had  made,  so  she  said  ear 
nestly,  "You  don't  understand,  Horace.  He  does 
not  object  to  music  in  itself  —  he  objects  to  its  being 
indulged  in  as  a  vanity  and  extravagance.  That  is 
the  Quaker  principle,  Rachel  says.  For  instance," 
holding  up  a  protesting  hand  to  ward  off  another 
interruption,  "  they  think  music  in  churches  ought 
to  be  freely  offered.  To  them,  as  it  is  given  by  a 
paid  choir,  it  is  like  a  performance,  but " 

A  laugh  from  her  father  and  brother  interrupted 
her,  and  Mrs.  Desborough  rising,  they  all  proceeded 
to  the  parlor. 

"And  /  think,"  said  Mrs.  Desborough,  waiting 
until  the  laugh  ceased,  that  she  might  be  impressive, 
"that  such  views  are  dangerous.  It  is  just  as  I 
said, — you  cannot  get  the  good  ideas  of  those 
Quakers  and  abolitionists  without  having  to  take  the 
bad  ones  too.  Grace,  are  you  beginning  to  have 
doubts  about  your  church  service?  If  I  thought 
your  friends  were  leading  you  to  that "  —  sinking 
into  an  arm-chair. 

"Oh  no,  no,  mamma!"  cried  Grace  distressed. 
"  They  never  try  to  lead  me  away  from  what  I  be- 


136  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

lieve !  Does  not  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Child  has  her 
piano  in  that  house  show  you  how  they  leave  others 
to  stand  by  their  principles  as  firmly  as  they  hold  to 
their  own?  " 

"  There  is  a  great  difference,  Grace,  between  that 
lady  and  you,"  said  her  mother,  growing  more  ear 
nest  as  she  went  on.  "  She  is  old  enough  to  take 
care  of  herself,  but  you  are  not.  They  may  not, 
any  of  them,  preach  or  try  to  influence  you  in  any 
way  whatever,  but,  if  you  are  going  to  persist  in  as 
sociating  with  them,  you  '11  be  where  they  are  before 
you  know  it  yourself!  You  have  had  now,  since 
you  have  been  acquainted  with  the  Stanwoods,  more 
—  more  new  notions  in  your  brain  than  you  ever 
had  disturb  you  before  in  your  whole  life.  I  don't 
understand  it.  Why  can't  you  take  those  people  as 
you  take  your  other  friends?  Why  can't  you  imi 
tate  the  old  gentleman  whom  you  admire  so  much, 
and  let  the  Stanwoods  and  all  of  them  go  their 
ways,  while  you  go  yours?" 

"Oh,  mamma!"  cried  Grace,  "don't  talk  so 
about  them !  It  hurts  me.  They  are  so  noble,  so 
good!  There  is  a  reason  why  I  can't,  and  I  want 
you  "  She  spoke  with  a  piteous  accent,  feeling, 
in  what  she  knew  she  was  going  to  say  now,  the 
weight  of  displeasure  drawing  nearer. 

"Well,  dear?"  asked  her  mother,  her  tone,  in  its 
anxiety,  almost  as  piteous  as  her  daughter's.  "Why 
can't  you  lead  your  own  life  and  leave  theirs 
alone?" 

Grace  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  as  her  fa 
ther  put  his  arm  around  her  and  drew  her  to  him, 
asking  gently,  "Why,  Gracie?" 


GRACE  DESBOROUGH.  137 

"Because,"  said  Grace,  raising  her  head  and  let 
ting  her  hands  fall,  "  Because  I  want  to  live  as  they 
do!" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  while  she  was  con 
trolling  her  emotion.  Then  her  father  reached  for 
her  hand  and  lifted  it  while  he  asked  gently  again, 
"  Why,  Gracie  ?  Tell  us  why  you  want  to  live  like 
those  people." 

"Because  they  live  more  in  a  single  day  than 
other  people  live  in  a  month,"  she  said.  "They 
make  me  feel  as  no  one  else  ever  did.  After  I 
have  been  among  them  I  feel  as  if  I  was  worth  more 

O 

than  I  ever  found  out  before.  I  want  to  use  all  the 
power  I  've  got,  just  as  well  as  I  can,  and  to  help 
others,  out  in  the  world,  with  it.  They  make  me 
feel  like  trying  not  to  waste  a  bit  of  it.  And  I 
want  to  use  it  for  the  ones  who  need  it  most,  —  I 
want  to  use  it  for  the  slaves!  " 

She  leaned  her  head  against  her  father  and  could 
not  say  any  more.  He  stroked  her  hair,  not  know 
ing  what  to  say,  and  looked  beyond  her  to  his  wife's 
face,  which  was  turned  to  him  appealingly.  Hor 
ace,  in  the  doorway,  heard  all  that  his  sister  said, 
and  his  eyes  were  bent  upon  her.  He  had  started 
to  go  to  the  library,  where  his  father  and  he  usually 
had  a  smoke  together  after  dinner,  but  his  ear 
caught  Grace's  tone  and  words  and  he  stopped  to 
listen.  He  had  been  covering  up  his  feelings,  try 
ing  to  hide  them  even  from  himself,  in  his  talk  at 
dinner.  But  in  every  word  Grace  spoke  she  was 
revealing  her  heart. 

"Well,  well!"  said  Mr.  Desborough,  in  a  cheer- 


138  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

ful  tone,  after  a  moment,  "  There  is  no  harm  in  all 
that.  The  person  who  makes  us  wish  to  do  our 
best  in  the  world  is  a  right  sort  of  friend  to  have. 
Your  mother  and  I  don't  wish  you  to  give  up  Miss 
Stanwood, — not  a  bit  of  it!  I  shan't  like  her, 
though,  if  she  makes  you  unhappy,  little  girl,  be 
sure  of  that!  She  must  put  bright  thoughts  and 
not  dreary  ones  into  this  little  head !  " 

"  Of  course !  It  is  only  your  happiness  we  think 
of,  dear,"  said  her  mother,  eagerly,  and  believing 
that  she  was  pouring  balm  on  her  daughter's  soul. 
"All  we  wish  to  do  is  to  help  you  to  be  cautious  be 
fore  it  is  too  late.  We  want  you  to  enjoy  these 
friends  of  yours  all  you  can,  reasonably.  Only  we 
hope  you  won't  give  too  much  time  to  them  in 
preference  to  others,  or  identify  yourself  with  their 
particular  hobbies.  You  want  to  go  to  this  fair, 
for  instance.  Now,  if  you  would  sacrifice  that  little 
pleasure,  it  would  be  wise  and  good  of  you  and 
would  please  us  very  much.  You  know  we  don't 
approve  of  slavery,  any  more  than  the  Stanwoods 
and  those  other  people  do.  It  is  a  cruel  wrong, 
every  way,  and  no  people  would  be  more  glad  than 
we  should  be  if  it  did  not  exist.  But  it  does  exist, 
and  if  our  country  suffers  from  it,  why,  we  must 
suffer  with  our  country!  "  Mrs.  Desborough's  chin 
here  punctuated  a  full  period.  She  was  delighted 
with  her  eloquence  and  thought  she  was  setting 
things  before  her  daughter  in  the  fairest  and  most 
persuasive  way  possible.  The  idea  of  suffering  with 
her  country  pleased  her  particularly,  and  she  re 
peated  it,  period  and  all.  "We  must  suffer  with 


GRACE  DESBOROUGH.  139 

our  country  and  be  patient.  To  take  the  course 
which  abolitionists  would  recommend  would  result 
in  —  in" —  She  was  not  clear  as  to  what  course 
the  abolitionists  would  propose,  or  its  effect,  and 
halted.  Her  husband  came  to  her  rescue  and  said, 
"It  would  result  in  anarchy  and  disruption,  of 
course."  Then  he  went  on  to  offer  to  Grace  the 
comfort  which  seemed  to  him  most  likely  to  soothe 
and  cheer  her. 

"We  should  be  glad  to  see  the  curse  removed, 
Gracie,  but  we  think  it  can  be  done  best  by  a  grad 
ual  and  temporizing  process.  We  do  not  approve 
of  aggressive  measures,  like  public  fairs.  I  don't 
mind  your  giving  a  little  money  to  Miss  Stanwood, 
to  use  according  to  her  discretion,  but  if  you  go  to 
the  fair  and  take  any  active  part  in  it,  why,  don't 
you  see,  you  will  be  identifying  yourself  with  its 
projectors,  and  our  friends  will  identify  you  as  an 
abolitionist!  Don't  you  see  this,  my  child?  " 

With  his  hands  on  her  shoulders,  he  was  looking 
down  at  her,  but  he  could  not  know  what  was  be 
hind  her  quiet  gaze.  She  stepped  back  a  little  and 
clasped  her  hands  together.  "Yes,  papa,  I  see  it, 
and  I  cannot  help  it,"  she  said  in  an  unsteady  voice, 
but  keeping  her  eyes  upon  his  face.  "  I  have  been 
thinking,  and  praying  for  help  to  think  rightly 
about  it,  and  I  know  what  I  believe.  And  I  think 
I  ought  not  to  hide  it.  I  am  not  important  in  any 
way,  but  that  does  n't  make  any  difference.  I 
want  to  stand  by  Rachel  Stanwood  and  let  every 
body  know  that  I  too  am  an  abolitionist,  —  like  her. 
I  am  sorry  "  —  her  voice  was  breaking  pitifully,  — 


140  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

"  sorry  to  think  what  you,  and  mamma,  and  Horace 
don't  want  me  to,  but  —  but"  She  waited,  and 
then  began  again.  "It  is  not  enough  only  to  'be 
lieve  that  slavery  is  wicked.  Giving  your  money 
would  not  be  enough.  I  must  give  myself,  papa ! 
Nothing  else  will  do,  —  nothing  else  will  do !  " 

She  threw  herself  upon  his  breast  and  her  voice 
broke  into  sobs.  Across  her  golden  hair  he  and  his 
wife  were  looking  at  each  other  again  in  sore  per 
plexity. 

Horace,  too,  carried  a  troubled  face  upstairs. 
He  had  heard  all,  but  he  had  no  help  to  offer  on 
either  side,  and  he  went,  unobserved,  up  into  the 
library  to  think  it  out  over  a  cigar. 

So  a  new  complication  had  come  into  the  Des- 
borough  family.  Quiet,  gentle  Grace  who  had 
always  done  just  as  she  was  told,  had  never  opposed 
anybody  or  anything,  but  had  patiently  and  dili 
gently  traveled  along  the  path  which  was  pointed 
out  for  her;  who  had  left  school,  joined  classes, 
studied  music  and  flower-painting,  "come  out"  in 
society,  all  just  as  she  was  bidden,  and  had  followed 
her  mother  into  church  and  out  again,  regularly, 
without  ever  intimating  an  independent  thought  or 
wish  of  any  consequence,  —  Grace  now,  at  last,  had 
a  conviction  and  a  conscience  to  back  it  up,  and 
they  were  going  to  force  her  to  act  in  opposition  to 
all  her  family ! 

It  was  a  great  annoyance !  There  were  long  talks 
and  discussions  about  it  between  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Desborough  and  Horace.  Mrs.  Desborough  com- 


GRACE  DESBOROUGIL  141 

plained  and,  again  and  again,  marveled  at  the  sud 
denness  and  mystery  of  it.  "Why!"  she  said, 
in  amazement,  "she  and  I  have  been  everywhere 
together!  We  have  scarcely  been  separated!  Ex 
cepting  to  two  meetings  of  that  fair  sewing-circle, 
and  occasionally  to  a  few  places  with  Miss  Stan- 
wood,  the  child  has  been  nowhere  without  me,  not 
even  to  church!" 

"'Excepting'!"  said  Horace,  in  an  undertone. 
"In  that  word  lies  all  the  mischief!  "  But  he  spoke 
rather  to  himself.  His  mother  went  on,  — 

"Yes,  we  have  knelt  together  in  the  same  church, 
and  I  thought  we  were  saying  together  the  same 
prayers,  and  now  look  at  this !  " 

She  could  not  get  over  it.  The  idea  that  Grace 
could  even  commune  with  the  Lord  without  consult 
ing  her  was  unaccountable.  She  did  not  agree 
with  her  husband  in  thinking  that  they  had  better 
not  oppose  Grace's  going  to  the  fair.  She  thought 
the  girl  ought  to  be  kept  removed  as  far  as  possible 
from  the  influences  which  had  led  her  so  astray. 
She  expressed  her  opinion  to  Horace,  and  he  sus 
tained  her  in  it  as  strongly  as  he  could.  He  worked 
himself  up  to  greater  earnestness  because  his  argu 
ments  were  directed  to  himself.  He  uttered  the  fam 
ily  sentiments  and  was  loyal  to  the  family  prejudices. 
He  urged  his  father  to  use  the  simple  means  within 
his  power  to  keep  Grace  from  going  to  the  fair. 

But  his  father  was  a  diplomatist  and  knew  that 
he  could  not  strengthen  Grace  in  her  convictions  in 
a  surer  way  than  by  interfering  with  the  liberty  of 
action  to  which  her  years  entitled  her. 


142  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

So  the  conversations  ended  by  his  saying  that 
Grace  must  be  allowed  to  attend  the  fair  and  to  get 
all  the  satisfaction  she  wanted  to  from  it. 

"Treat  the  whole  subject  as  a  matter  of  temporary 
interest,"  he  said,  "and  it  will  blow  over.  Make 
a  serious  business  of  it  and  you  bind  Grace  over, 
heart  and  soul,  to  her  abolitionism." 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE   FIRST   DAY   AT   THE   FAIR. 

THE  rain  fell  in  torrents  on  Monday.  It  beat 
upon  the  window  panes  of  Nelson  Hall  and  seemed 
to  jeer  in  the  very  face  of  the  gay  autumn  leaves 
pasted  upon  them.  The  printed  placard,  which 
was  to  announce  the  fair  so  boldly  on  the  sidewalk, 
had  to  stand  inside  of  the  entrance,  and  the  trian 
gular  transparency  jutting  out  between  two  of  the 
front  windows  had  all  the  heralding  to  do  alone. 
Its  cotton  sides  looked  as  if  they  were  not  going  to 
hold  out  against  the  buffeting  of  the  storm.  When 
the  first  group  of  ladies  arrived,  the  prospect  was 
dismal.  The  janitor  appeared  surprised  even  to  see 
them,  professing  to  take  for  granted  the  necessity  of 
postponing  the  occasion  altogether.  Some  of  the 
ladies  seemed  to  think  this  course  would  be  wise. 

"What  is  the  use  of  everybody's  taking  cold  for 
nothing?"  Friend  Snow  asked,  folding  her  long 
cloak  around  her  more  closely. 

Even  Mrs.  Morton  considered  the  advisability  of 
countermanding  the  order  for  ice-cream.  "We 
shall  certainly  want  so  little  to-day,"  she  said,  "that 
we  can  do  without  any ;  coffee  and  chocolate  will  do 
instead." 

Mrs.  Morton  and  Friend  Snow  had  come  together 


144  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

in  a  hack,  with  a  load  of  parcels  and  the  parapher 
nalia  for  making  tea,  coffee,  and  chocolate.  Some 
other  ladies  had  also  arrived  and  were  prodding 
the  janitor  to  turn  on  the  heat  and  to  sell  them  at 
double  price  sufficient  coal  to  supply  the  stove  upon 
which  the  cooking  was  to  be  done. 

Friend  Snow,  standing  gloomily  at  the  door,  took 
a  survey  of  the  comfortless  hall  and  said,  "It  looks 
about  as  much  like  having  a  funeral  as  a  fair!  " 

"Oh,  no!"  said  a  bright  voice  behind  her,  and 
Mrs.  Stan  wood,  out  of  breath  from  hurrying  up  the 
stairs,  brought  the  first  cheerful  atmosphere  into  the 
room.  Instantly  she  was  the  centre  against  which 
were  hurled  all  the  doubts  which  had  arisen :  — 

"Is  it  worth  while  to  arrange  the  tables?" 
"Hadn't  the  refreshments  better  be  kept  until  to 
morrow?"  "Why  let  things  be  unpacked  only  to 
get  shabby  and  finger-marked?"  "Not  a  soul 
will  come!"  And  Friend  Snow,  shivering,  said, 
"We  '11  catch  our  deaths!  " 

Mrs.  Stan  wood  recovered  her  breath.  "Tabitha 
Snow,"  she  said,  "if  thee  has  set  thy  heart  on  a 
funeral,  go  look  out  of  the  front  windows,  and  one 
will  pass  in  the  course  of  time;  we  can't  have  one 
here,  —  it 's  not  convenient !  " 

Then  she  untied  her  bonnet,  saying  to  the  others 
with  decision:  "We'll  open  the  fair  to-day  at  three 
o'clock,  the  hour  fixed  upon.  Suppose  it  does  rain? 
What  then?  Let  it!  That  is  a  thing  for  which 
we  are  not  responsible.  What  the  weather  does 
is  none  of  our  business.  Get  the  tables  ready,  — 
that 's  our  work." 


THE  FIRST  DAY  AT  THE  FAIR.  145 

"Of  course,"  said  Friend  Snow,  "we  all  know 
what  thee  would  say,  but" 

"Hark!"  said  Mrs.  Norris,  a  tall,  fresh-looking 
Quaker  lady  who  had  taken  off  her  bonnet  and  cloak 
and  was  already  prepared  for  work.  She  had  her 
hands  on  a  table  to  place  it  in  position.  "It  does 
n't  sound  funereal,  Tabitha,  but  listen!  "  she  said. 

There  was  a  lull  in  the  noise  of  the  street,  as  a 
heavy  omnibus  stopped  under  the  windows,  and  a 
chorus  of  young  voices  was  heard  out  in  the  storm, 
singing  lustily,  — 

"  Ho !  the  car  Emancipation 
Rides  triumphant  through  the  Nation." 

"It  is  William  Hedges  and  Joseph  Norris,  with 
all  the  girls  in  an  omnibus,"  said  Mrs.  Quimby, 
from  the  window.  "  The  boys  have  been  riding  on 
top,  with  the  evergreens  and  the  driver.  They  must 
be  drenched  through  to  the  bones!  " 

"  E-e-mancipation 
Rides  triumphant  through  the  Nation," 

sounded  again  on  its  way  up  the  stairs,  and,  in  a 
moment,  a  dozen  young  girls  came  singing  and 
laughing  into  the  room,  laden  to  their  chins  with 
parcels  of  all  shapes  and  sizes.  As  the  older  ladies 
met  them  and  helped  with  their  parcels,  the  song 
broke  to  pieces  in  a  medley  of  chattering  voices 
which  were  accounting  for  their  coming  in  such  a 
gay  and  unlooked-for  manner.  When  the  fragments 
of  explanations  were  patched  together  it  made  a 
droll  story  of  how,  the  evening  before,  every  girl 
had  received  a  secret  command  to  wait  at  home,  in 


146  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

the  morning,  until  called  for ;  how  they  did  not  know 
what  to  make  of  the  message,  until  the  stage  had 
"picked  them  all  up,  bag  and  baggage."  "On 
receipt  of  the  last  girl  called  for,  William  Hedges 
had  started  the  song  through  the  money-hole  in  the 
coach  roof."  "Oh,  of  course  it  was  Will  who 
started  it  all.  He  invented,  and  Jo  Norris  and  Ned 
Quimby  abetted." 

The  tale  was  barely  told  when  the  young  fellows 
appeared,  carrying  so  much  evergreen  that  they 
looked  as  if  they  might  have  come  from  Dunsinane. 
Will's  load  deposited,  he  hurried  out  again  to  bring 
in  some  boxes  for  Grace  Desborough,  who  had 
driven  up  in  her  carriage  just  as  the  omnibus  was 
emptied. 

"Gracie! "  exclaimed  Eachel,  full  of  joy  at  sight 
of  her  friend.  "Is  this  another  of  thy  surprises, 
Will?  Was  her  coming  preconcerted,  too?" 

"No,  that  was  inspiration;  to  make  up  for  the 
weather  and  put  it  to  shame,"  said  Will  gayly. 
"Susy  Morton,  take  my  hat  off  for  me,  please. 
Thank  thee !  Now,  where  shall  these  boxes  go,  Miss 
Desborough?" 

Grace  passed  the  question  to  Rachel,  who  gave  a 
little  scream  of  delight  as  Will  set  the  boxes  down 
upon  a  table,  and  Grace  lifted  the  lids,  discovering 
treasures  of  hot-house  flowers.  "Oh!  Oh!  Girls, 
come  and  look!"  cried  Rachel,  and  the  girls  bent 
their  heads  over  the  boxes,  sniffed  and  "Oh"-ed  in 
chorus. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  commotion  of  getting  to 
work  began.  Boards  and  trestles  were  converted 


THE  FIRST  DAY  AT  THE  FAIR.  147 

into  tables  and  speedily  concealed  under  white 
muslin;  racks  and  frameworks  were  fastened  up, 
and  the  stacks  of  evergreen  disposed  of  to  advan 
tage.  Ugly  gas-jets,  unsightly  stains  or  defects 
were  hidden  under  branches  of  bitter-sweet,  holly, 
and  evergreen,  which  had  been,  much  of  it,  gathered 
by  the  young  men  in  places  out  of  the  city,  —  Staten 
Island,  or  the  Jersey  shore.  It  was  not  so  easy 
then,  as  it  is  now,  to  buy  it  at  market  or  on  the 
street  corners,  by  the  yard  or  bushel;  young  men 
tramped  for  it  and  girls  wove  and  tied  it  into  gar 
lands  themselves. 

By  the  appointed  hour  the  fair  was  open.  The 
tables  were  laden  with  treasures,  and  the  girls,  with 
their  mysterious  skill,  had  concealed  all  traces  of 
labor,  disorder,  and  confusion,  exchanged  working 
aprons  for  dainty  fresh  ones,  and  were  ready  for 
customers.  They  were,  most  of  them,  dressed  in 
the  quiet  grays,  fawn  colors,  and  browns  which 
Quakers  loved,  and  looked  very  attractive  in  the  gay 
setting  of  display  and  decorations.  Many  of  the 
things  offered  for  sale  seem  now  among  the  lost  arts. 
Fingers,  not  sewing-machines,  had  done  the  work 
upon  them.  The  almost  invisible  stitches  on  those 
home-made  aprons,  little  baby-dresses  and  garments, 
needle-books  and  pincushions,  purses,  card-cases, 
and  work-basket  furnishings  of  bronze  morocco  and 
dove  -  colored  chamois  skin ;  the  delicate  -  colored, 
hand-knitted  "nubias,"  and  those  little,  three-cor 
nered  "rigolettes,"  so  exquisite  in  their  daintiness 
and  so  becoming,  could  only  be  found  at  an  anti- 
slavery  fair. 


148  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

The  very  toys  there  were  dainty.  The  dolls  were 
dressed  with  simple  taste,  in  clothes  which  could 
bear  the  closest  inspection,  and  which  set  the  high 
est  standard  of  neatness  for  the  fortunate  children 
who  were  to  possess  them.  The  French  doll,  with 
its  prettier  face  and  its  furbelows,  had  not  been 
imported  then,  and  children  were  not  tied,  like  bon 
bons,  in  big  sashes  and  worked  up  into  decorations. 

Never  was  a  creature  happier  than  Grace  Desbor- 
ough.  Her  face  was  radiant,  and  the  work  of  her 
hands  like  magic.  She  had  charge  of  the  flower 
table,  which  was  in  the  centre  of  the  room  and  built 
like  a  bower.  Her  flowers  were  unpacked,  grouped 
in  vases  or  wet  moss,  or  hung  in  globes  and  baskets 
among  the  evergreens,  long  before  the  dressing  of 
the  other  tables  was  completed.  Mrs.  Child,  com 
ing  to  bring  some  contributions  for  one  of  the  tables, 
smiled  to  herself  as  she  watched  Grace's  sunny  head 
appear  and  disappear  under  the  little  arches,  and 
said  to  Friend  Snow,  "  She  reminds  me  of  Correg- 
gio's  medallions."  But  she  had  her  simile  to  her 
self,  for  Friend  Snow  had  never  heard  of  Correggio 
or  his  medallions,  and  considered  Grace's  bower 
worldly  and  a  vanity. 

The  rain  continued  to  fall  without  cessation  and 
rattled  all  day  against  the  window-panes,  but  inside 
the  hall  the  aspect  of  things  was  bright.  Anti- 
slavery  people,  accustomed  to  bufferings  and  storms, 
were  not  easily  daunted.  Better  than  any  other 
people  they  knew  how  to  stand  by  one  another,  and 
the  darker  the  sky  grew  outside  the  brighter  their 
spirits  seemed  to  become. 


TEE  FIEST  DAY  AT  THE  FAIR.  149 

The  girls  were  ready  to  sell  their  wares  long  be 
fore  there  were  any  customers  to  buy.  But  they 
resorted  to  many  devices  in  order  to  keep  up  their 
cheerfulness,  and  gathered  their  first  profits  from 
one  another.  Purchasers  came  straggling  along  in 
small  groups,  but  at  no  time  during  the  afternoon 
or  evening  was  the  room  full  enough  to  have  any 
thing  like  a  general  aspect  of  activity.  They  were 
the  friends  of  the  cause,  the'  workers  and  ardent 
ones,  who  braved  the  storm  and  gave  their  patron 
age  to  the  fair  on  that  first  day.  Excepting  at  the 
refreshment  tables,  upon  the  resources  of  which 
everybody  depended  for  meals,  Grace,  in  her  bower, 
had  the  best  market  for  her  flowers.  She  was 
pointed  out  as  a  new  recruit  and  was,  unconsciously, 
an  object  of  much  interest.  Curious  eyes  and 
kindly  looks  were  turned  upon  her,  and  those  who 
bought  her  flowers  often  asked  to  be  introduced  to 
her.  She  recognized  a  number  whom  she  had  seen 
at  the  Stan  woods'  party,  and  learned  a  good  deal 
about  them  from  the  girls  who  left  their  own  tables 
sometimes  to  sit  with  her. 

Her  most  extravagant  customer  was  Mr.  Burton 
River ston,  who  bought  her  handsomest  flowers  for 
Rachel.  Ned  Quimby,  Jo  Norris,  and  some  of  the 
other  young  Quakers  came  for  little  bouquets,  which 
they  carried  off  to  different  girls,  and  Will  Hedges 
came  for  a  bunch  of  violets.  He  was  going  away 
with  them  just  as  Horace  appeared,  early  in  the 
evening. 

Grace  invited  her  brother  to  a  seat  inside  of  her 
bower,  but  he  declined  it,  saying,  "Thank  you,  I 


150  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

am  not  ready  yet  to  be  framed  for  exhibition." 
Grace  laughed  and  said  nobody  would  notice  him 
among  the  shadows  of  the  evergreens. 

He  did  not  hear  her,  because  he  was  watching  to 
see  if  Mr.  Hedges  was  going  to  present  his  violets 
to  Rachel. 

"Stupid  jackass!  "  he  said,  as  Will  gave  them  to 
Friend  Snow,  who  was  sitting  dismally  alone  be 
hind  one  of  the  refreshment  tables.  Grace  noticed 
the  act  also  and  flushed  with  pleasure  as  she  saw 
the  old  lady's  grim  face  light  up. 

"She's  the  grenadier, — Tabitha,"  said  Horace, 
idly  leaning  on  the  counter.  "Has  she  got  any 
other  name?" 

"They  call  her  'Friend  Snow,'  "  said  Grace,  eager 
to  interest  him,  leaning  forward  under  one  of  her 
little  arches.  "She  preaches,  I  believe,  and —  Oh, 
there  is  Miss  Frederika  Bremer,  going  to  speak  to 
Mr.  Hedges.  How  little  she  looks  beside  him! 
Don't  you  remember  seeing  her  at  the  Stan  woods'  ? 
I  like  to  watch  her;  she  looks  so  like  Cinderella's 
godmother,  in  that  cap  of  rich  old  lace !  She  ought 
to  have  a  wand  in  her  hand,  and  then  she  'd  be  per 
fect.  If  you  could  see  what  beautiful  little  hands 
she  has,  you  would  believe  they  really  had  fairy 
power  of  some  kind." 

"Well,  have  n't  they  ?  Don't  they  write  wonder 
ful  stories?"  Horace  asked,  watching  Miss  Bremer 
as  she  was  looking  up  into  Will  Hedges'  face  and 
laughing  merrily.  "A  good  story  is  worth  more 
than  a  pumpkin  chariot,  any  day." 

"Of  course  it  is,"  said  Grace,  pleased  with  the 


THE  FIRST  DAY  AT  THE  FAIR.  151 

thought  and  glad  that  Horace  seemed  satisfied  with 
one  person,  at  least.  "Oh,  don't  go!  She  is  tak 
ing  Mr.  Hedges'  arm  and  they  are  coming  this 
way.  Would  n't  you  like  to  be  introduced  to  her, 
Horace?  " 

"I  will  leave  Mr.  Hedges  undisturbed  posses 
sion;  he  seems  partial  to  old  ladies,"  he  said.  But 
he  was  a  moment  too  late.  Will  was  shaking  hands 
with  him  and  presenting  him  to  Miss  Bremer  while 
a  pleasant  voice  at  his  back  was  saying  to  Grace, 
"We  would  each  like  a  bunch  of  these  red  berries." 
Horace  moved  to  give  place  to  two  middle-aged 
ladies  in  big  bonnets  under  the  capes  of  which  was 
visible  their  short,  silver  hair.  It  was  straight  and 
stiff  on  the  head  of  the  shorter  lady  and  concealed 
in  front  by  a  heavy  cap-frill.  The  other  lady  wore 
no  cap ;  her  hair  was  wavy  over  the  temples,  and  at 
the  back  in  rings  which  would  be  curls  if  allowed  to 
grow  long  enough.  If,  instead  of  the  scant,  angular 
style  of  her  clothes,  she  had  been  dressed  in  some 
simple  fashion  of  the  day,  she  would  have  shown  for 
what  she  was,  a  fine-looking  woman. 

Miss  Bremer  turned  quickly  to  greet  the  two  la 
dies  with  enthusiasm,  and  Horace  was  drawn  into 
further  introductions  to  Miss  Marcia  and  Miss  Eve 
lina  Saunders.  They  had  been  at  the  fair  all  the 
afternoon,  and  in  half  an  hour's  conversation  which 
Grace  had  had  with  them,  she  had  discovered  so 
much  benevolence  and  gracious  gentleness  that  she 
had  forgotten  the  oddity  of  their  appearance.  Now, 
somehow,  she  longed  to  put  herself  between  them 
and  her  brother,  and  protect  them  from  his  criticism 


152  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

which,  however  concealed  from  observation,  she 
knew  was  inevitable.  But  they  lingered  over  their 
purchases,  and  in  the  meagrely  filled  room  they  were 
in  bold  relief  as  they  walked  away. 

Grace  staved  off  a  comment  from  Horace  by  lean 
ing  out  of  her  leafy  frame  to  whisper  anxiously, 
"Did  you  see  their  faces,  Horace?  One  of  them 
has  such  pretty  eyes.  And  listen,  —  they  used  to 
be  wealthy.  They  lived  in  the  South  and  had 
slaves,  but  they  set  them  free.  They  made  them 
selves  poor  by  giving  liberty  to  their  slaves. 
Wasn't  it  noble  and  beautiful  of  them?  " 

"It  would  be  equally  noble  if  they  did  not  look 
as  if  they  came  out  of  the  ark.  Here  comes  an 
other!  Grace,  I'm  going;  your  table  attracts  too 
many  —  ark-angels !  " 

He  walked  away  in  the  direction  of  Rachel's 
table,  which  seemed  a  centre  of  attraction.  He 
leaned  against  a  pillar  near  it  and  waited  for  her 
customers  to  get  through  with  their  purchases  and 
leave  her.  He  was  surprised  to  see  Burton  River- 
ston  hovering  around  the  table  and  seizing  oppor 
tunities  to  alight  in  the  openings. 

"H'lo,  old  fellow!"  said  Riverston  presently, 
perceiving  him.  "What  are  you  doing  here?  " 

"Studying  humanity  and  wishing  I  was  a  stage 
manager,"  said  Horace.  "What  are  you  after?  " 

"Well,  if  you  want  to  know,"  said    Riverston, 
backing  up  against  Horace's  pillar  and  turning  his 
head  so  as  to  speak  confidentially,  "I  'm  after  Miss 
Stanwood.     Isn't  she  a  stunner?     Look  at  her,  - 
she  's  recognizing  somebody  she  likes.     Ever  see  a 


THE  FIRST  DAY  AT  THE  FAIE.  153 

face  light  up  like  that?  Wonder  who  got  the  bene 
fit  ?  There  is  n't  a  woman  in  New  York  with  a  head 
set  on  her  shoulders  so  finely,  or  with  such  a  head. 
I  've  been  trying  to  get  one  of  the  things  she  made 
herself,  but  she  won't  sell  me  what  I  want.  Here  's 
a  chance!  Come  and  help  a  fellow!  " 

The  two  went  up  to  the  counter.  Kachel  smiled 
and  held  out  her  hand  to  Horace,  across  the  table. 

"I  was  surprised  to  see  Grace,  after  all  the 
scruples  you  have  shown,  Mr.  Desborough,"  she 
said  gayly.  "Considering  your  prejudices,  you  are 
very  good  to  lend  her  to  us." 

"I  am  afraid  she  is  overdoing  the  business,  Miss 
Stanwood,"  said  Horace,  "and  that  my  prejudices 
would  have  prevented  her  from  coming,  had  they 
been  as  influential  as  you  seem  to  think." 

"I  am  glad  if  they  are  less  so,"  she  said,  looking 
a  little  disappointed,  "but  I  am  sorry  to  have  to 
withdraw  the  credit  I  had  given  you.  You  are  not 
responsible,  then,  for  Grace's  coming?  And  we 
mustn't  be  a  bit  indebted  to  you?" 

"No,  Miss  Stanwood,"  said  Horace,  wishing  she 
would  not  ask  such  questions,  throwing  him  at  once 
upon  his  honesty,  and  forcing  him  to  remind  her  of 
what  she  disapproved  in  him.  She  seemed  to  wait 
for  him  to  say  more,  and  he  gave  her  the  whole  truth : 
"My  sister  is  here  on  her  own  responsibility,  and 
against  the  wishes  of  her  family,  who  have  yielded 
their  —  prejudices,  if  you  call  them  so  —  to  hers. 
I  am  here  simply  as  her  escort,  that  is  all." 

"And  after  such  an  outrageously  ungallant  con 
fession,  you  must  not  sell  him  a  copper's  worth!" 


154  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

exclaimed  Mr.  Kiverston,  quite  willing  that  Horace 
should  appear  in  an  unfavorable  light. 

Horace  protested  and  claimed  the  right  of  a  pur 
chaser.  A  contest  followed  between  the  young  men 
to  obtain  possession  of  some  bit  of  Rachel's  handi 
work,  but  it  ended  in  their  defeat  and  the  discovery 
that  the  last  piece  had  been  sold. 

Susy  Morton,  who  enjoyed  the  contest  hugely, 
pointed  to  the  little  figure  of  Miss  Marcia  Saunders, 
who  was  walking  away  with  Mr.  Stan  wood,  and, 
after  informing  the  young  gentlemen  that  the  last 
piece  of  Miss  Stan  wood's  work  was  sold,  added  mis 
chievously,  - 

"There  it  goes,  in  that  lady's  satchel." 
Riverston  made  a  dive  after  the  lady  and  boldly 
asked  Mr.  Stanwood  to  introduce  him  to  her.  Ra 
chel  heard  Horace  say,  "Mrs.  Noah!"  under  his 
breath,  as  he  looked  after  them.  She  was  uncom 
fortable.  She  did  not  enjoy  Mr.  Riverston,  his  at 
tentions,  or  admiration.  She  wanted  to  get  rid  of 
him  and  was  puzzled  to  know  how.  When  she  saw 
Horace  approach,  she  thought  he  would  help  her, 
but  his  explanation  of  Grace's  presence  at  the  fair 
made  a  new  worry  for  her.  It  would  very  mate 
rially  mar  her  pleasure  in  Grace's  company  and  aid, 
to  have  her  there  against  the  will  of  her  family. 
She  had  of  late  accused  herself  of  injustice  toward 
the  Desborough  family,  and,  in  reaction,  her  heart 
had  warmed  toward  them,  even  to  making  her  feel 
indebted  in  part  to  Mrs.  Desborough  for  the  flowers 
Grace  had  brought.  But  now  her  happiness  was 
bruised ;  Grace  was  there  confessedly  under  protest. 


THE  FIRST  DAY  AT  THE  FAIR.  155 

Her  brother  had  come  only  to  accompany  her  home, 
and  was  amusing  himself  with  the  eccentricities  of 
people  a  thousand  times  his  superiors. 

Susy,  too,  had  heard  him  call  Miss  Marcia  "Mrs. 
Noah,"  and  could  not  help  laughing.  "There  is  n't 
a  bit  of  use  in  denying  a  resemblance,"  she  whis 
pered  to  Rachel. 

"I  don't  deny  it,"  Rachel  answered  indignantly. 
"  But  she  can  afford  to  look  as  she  pleases,  and  he 
carit  afford  to  criticise  her.  I  despise  him!  "  Im 
pulsively  she  stepped  out  from  behind  her  table  and 
went  to  prevent  Miss  Saunders  from  giving  up  her 
purchase,  a  cheap  little  purse,  to  Mr.  Riverston. 
The  latter  was  offering  a  five-dollar  bill  for  it. 

The  little  lady  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  his 
extravagant  offer,  or  of  Rachel  suddenly  putting  an 
arm  around  her  and  whispering  affectionately,  — 

"Please  keep  the  purse,  Miss  Saunders,  as  a 
keepsake  from  me.  Here  is  the  half  dollar  you 
gave  Susy  Morton  for  it.  Don't  let  anybody  else 
have  it,  will  you?  Indeed,  I  have  a  reason  for 
asking  you  not  to." 

"I  see  that  I  am  baffled,"  said  Mr.  Riverston, 
with  chagrin.  Thrusting  the  bill  back  into  his 
pocket-book  he  offered  the  latter  to  Miss  Saunders, 
with  an  extravagance  of  manner  worthy  of  the  comic 
stage,  saying,  — 

"  Madam,  I  offer  an  exchange.  Take  all  I  have 
and  give  me  only  Miss  Stanwood's  little  empty 
purse ! " 

Miss  Saunders  looked  up  at  Rachel,  and  then, 
folding  her  spare  arms  around  her  bag  as  if  it  were 


156  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

a  baby,  smiled  at  the  young  man  and  said,  "Not  for 
anything  you  can  offer  me." 

"A  moment  more  and  I  'd  have  had  it!  It  was 
pure  cruelty  in  you  to  interfere,"  he  said  to  Eachel. 
Then  to  Miss  Saunders  once  more,  tapping  his 
pocket-book,  "Have  you  considered  the  profit  to  the 
Cause?" 

But  the  lady  only  looked  placidly  up  at  him 
through  her  silver  spectacles  and  answered,  "The 
Cause  is  not  the  question  to  be  considered  in  this 
matter."  And,  turning  to  Mr.  Stanwood,  she  said, 
as  if  she  were  beginning  a  lecture,  "Necessity  de 
mands  that  the  irrepressible  conflict  shall  be  main 
tained  by  constant  reinforcements  of  courage,  elo 
quence,  persistency,  and  the  unquenchable  fire  of 
anti-slavery  opposition!  " 

By  the  time  she  reached  "persistency,"  Riverston 
put  his  purse  into  his  pocket  and  went  to  join  Ra 
chel  again. 

Rachel  did  not  immediately  return  to  her  table. 
She  wanted  to  show  Horace  Desborough  her  own 
estimation  of  the  people  whom  he  held  in  contempt. 
It  was  not  her  way  to  be  demonstrative,  more  par 
ticularly  in  public,  but  she  had  put  her  arm  around 
Miss  Saunders  purposely,  because  she  knew  that  he 
was  watching  her,  and  she  wished  now  that  some 
more  of  the  people  who  might  be  subjects  for  his 
ridicule  would  come  along  that  she  might  show  him 
her  attitude  toward  them.  No  one  did,  however.  It 
was  late  and  people  were  going  home.  Mr.  River 
ston  joined  her  again,  saying,  "I  am  quite  crestfal 
len,  Miss  Stanwood.  The  lady  is  deaf,  dumb,  and 


THE  FIRST  DAY  AT  THE  FAIE.  157 

blind  to  me  henceforth,  and  you  are  responsible  for 
withholding  a  handsome  profit  from  the  fair." 

"That  is  better  than  being  responsible  for  dis 
honesty  in  trade,"  said  Rachel  unthinkingly,  and 
looking  about  her  for  some  excuse  to  send  him 
away. 

"Oh,  but  you  don't  know  the  extent  of  your  re 
sponsibility,  Miss  Stanwood!"  he  exclaimed,  in  a 
low  tone,  as' she  moved  along.  "If  you  would  only 
allow  me  to  explain,  I  could  show  you  " 

"I  doubt  it,"  she  interrupted.  "I  am  more 
stupid  than  you  think.  But  there,"  in  a  brighter 
tone,  and  pointing  to  Hetty  Bixby,  "is  a  young  lady 
to  whom  you  can  show  some  gallantry,  if  you  will 
be  so  kind,  Mr.  Riverston.  It  is  time  to  shut  up 
shop,  and  Miss  Bixby  is  struggling  to  get  down 
those  things  in  order  to  put  them  away  for  the 
night:  would  you  mind  helping  her?  " 

He  did  mind,  but  there  was  nothing  for  him  to  do 
but  comply,  and  he  went,  wishing  poor  little  Hetty 
was  in  Jericho. 

Horace  went  to  help  Grace,  wondering  why  Ra 
chel  declined  his  offer  of  assistance  in  such  a  freez 
ing  manner. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

FACE   TO   FACE   WITH   THE   QUESTION. 

THE  storm  lasted  two  days,  but  on  the  third,  the 
last  one  of  the  fair,  the  sky  was  clear,  and  the  sun, 
lighting  Nelson  Hall,  brought  out  in  bold  relief  the 
gay  and  pretty  aspect  of  decoration  and  the  display 
of  table  furnishings  which  were  still  pitifully  abun 
dant.  It  brought  bloom,  too,  to  the  young  faces,  and 
gay  spirits  which  made  up  for  the  bravely  concealed 
depression  of  two  dull  days.  That  day  of  sunshine 
saved  the  fair  from  failure.  People  began  to  come 
at  an  early  hour  to  make  purchases  and  the  girls  at 
their  tables  brightened  to  see  things  which  they  had 
worked  hard  to  make  find  a  market  at  last.  Every 
where  there  was  a  buzz  of  happiness  because  the 
strain  was  over,  and  success  assured. 

At  the  refreshment  tables  business  was  particu 
larly  active,  and  when  the  luncheon  hour  arrived, 
the  service  was  discovered  to  be  so  deficient  that 
Mrs.  Quimby  sent  a  messenger  to  her  house  for 
Havilah  Moore  to  come  and  help.  It  was  a  rash 
act  for  Havilah  to  show  herself  in  so  public  a  place, 
but  rashness  protected  as  often  as  it  exposed  fugi 
tives  ;  and  when  the  question  of  sending  for  the  girl 
was  considered,  and  the  risk  to  her  safety  suggested, 
it  was  decided  that  wherever  Havilah  moved,  or 


FACE  TO  FACE  WITH  THE  QUESTION.      159 

remained,  the  risks  moved  or  remained  with  her. 
Certainly  she  could  be  nowhere  surrounded  by  more 
or  better  protectors  than  at  the  fair.  Then  she  was 
given  work  to  do  almost  exclusively  in  the  anteroom, 
where  customers  were  not  invited  and  where  she 
would  not  attract  observation. 

The  fugitives  had  been  separated  from  one  an 
other,  for  greater  security.  Little  Diana  was  with 
her  mother,  in  the  charge  of  the  Quimbys,  living  in 
clover  under  their  protection.  Delphina  had  been 
sent  to  the  Mortons,  much  against  her  will,  and 
was  only  prevailed  upon  to  leave  the  Stanwoods  as 
a  temporary  arrangement.  As  soon  as  Havilah  and 
her  child  were  safely  disposed  of  together  some 
where,  unless  Mr.  Suydan  made  his  appearance 
again  with  renewed  suspicions  of  the  Stanwoods' 
house,  Delphina  was  to  return  there.  So  far  as  she 
was  concerned,  the  thought  of  her  master  was  not 
disturbing  in  the  least.  She  was  out  of  his  clutches. 
"Marse  Tawm  ain't  smaht  'nough  to  cotch  me,"  she 
declared,  and  repeated,  "not  smaht  'nough!  He 
ain't  got  'nough  senses!  Hablah,  now,  she  betteh 
look  out;  she  can't  fly  roun'  an'  fin'  herse'f  nowhahs 
de  way  /ken ;  she  's  got  Di  on  de  min',  an'  she  ain't 
got  time  to  grab  de  chances.  Ef  Marse  Tawm  comes 
yer  lookin'  up  niggehs,  he  '11  get  mad  cose  dey  ain't 
in  de  places  whah  he  'spec's.  He  ain't  got  no  sense 
w'en  he's  mad!  Ho!  ho!  an'  'fore  he  comes  to, 
I  's  quit.  But  Hablah,  she  's  lookin'  roun'  for  de 
chile,  an'  she  's  dah,  on  de  spot," 

Delphina  had  been  happy  and  indefatigable  dur 
ing  the  preparations  for  the  fair.  No  work  was 


160  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

hard  enough  for  her,  nothing  could  subdue  her  un 
bounded  joy  in  being  allowed  to  help.  A  fair  was 
to  her,  in  any  case,  a  grand,  unmitigated  frolic,  but 
when  she  learned  the  object  of  this  one,  she  was 
irrepressible  in  her  delight.  The  occasion  assumed 
proportions  beyond  description,  and  the  results  were 
going  to  be  gigantic  in  benefits  to  the  slaves.  Her 
idea  seemed  to  be  that  if  her  master  wanted  to  re 
cover  his  property,  he  had  better  be  quick  about  it, 
because,  after  the  fair,  he  would  not  "dahster  show 
his  face  in  de  Norf !  "  She  had  been  allowed  to  ac 
company  Eebecca  and  Susy  Morton  to  the  hall  on 
the  two  rainy  days,  and  during  the  dreary  inactivity 
of  them  she  had  been  an  entertainment  to  every 
body.  Miss  Bremer  had  given  her  a  new  silver 
dollar  to  spend,  and  the  result  was  interesting.  She 
wandered  from  end  to  end  of  the  room,  investigating 
and  inspecting  at  each  table  in  turn,  making  up  her 
mind  what  to  buy.  Again  and  again  she  came  to  a 
decision  and  selected,  sometimes  one  article,  some 
times  several  articles,  but,  when  it  came  to  the  mo 
ment  of  parting  with  her  dollar,  she  could  not  make 
the  sacrifice.  One  after  another,  the  girls  tried  to 
help  her,  and  in  at  least  a  dozen  instances,  their 
efforts  were  crowned  with  success;  but  within  the 
next  half  hour  Delphina  had  either  returned  with 
what  she  had  bought,  begging  her  dollar  back 
again,  or  she  was  hunted  up  by  some  soft-hearted 
girl  who  presented  her  with  the  purchase  and  re 
stored  the  precious  coin  for  her  to  spend  again. 
Her  taste  leading  her  to  select  from  the  crocheted 
tidies,  worsted  mats,  impractical,  barren -looking 


FACE  TO  FACE  WITH  THE  QUESTION.      161 

pincushions,  bright-colored  scarfs,  or  fancy  articles 
which  were  unsalable,  her  heap  of  treasures  grew 
larger  and  larger  and  still  the  dollar  kept  coming 
back  to  her.  In  the  course  of  the  two  days  Del- 
phina  and  her  money  became  a  familiar  source  of 
amusement  to  the  girls,  who  got  up  innocent  tilts 
to  see  who  could  palm  off  certain  things  upon  the 
persistent  customer  or  get  temporary  possession  of 
her  dollar. 

On  the  third  day  it  was  deemed  prudent  to  leave 
her  at  home,  the  pleasant  weather  promising  the  ad 
vent  of  possible  strangers  and  too  much  business  to 
admit  of  supervision  over  her.  She  was  somewhat 
afflicted  at  the  deprivation,  but  was  consoled  with 
her  fantastic  possessions  and  the  promise  of  more. 

At  the  hour  when  afternoon  visitors  had  gone 
away  and  before  the  evening  ones  began  to  come,  a 
group  of  young  people  were  gathered  around  Ra 
chel's  and  Susy's  table,  having  a  sociable  little  chat. 

"Come,  Meg,"  called  Rebecca  Morton  to  a  girl 
who  was  coming  toward  them  carrying  a  quantity 
of  moss-covered,  home-made  baskets.  "  Stop  work 
and  come  eat  candy.  The  boys'  feelings  are  hurt 
because  our  demands  are  not  equal  to  their  supply." 

"I  won't  eat  a  one,  unless  somebody  solves  my 
problem,  —  What  is  to  be  done  with  these  things?  " 
And  she  set  down  her  stack  of  baskets  upon  the 
table. 

"Oh  dear!"  sighed  Rachel  Stan  wood.  "Miss 
Letitia  Hetherby  spent  all  last  summer  making 
those,  and" 

"They  're  as  ugly  as   sin!"  said   Meg.     "Thy 


162  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

mother  sent  'em  over  to  my  table,  Rebecca  Morton, 
and  I  '11  never  forgive  her." 

"Aunt  Debby  sent  'em  to  mine  first, — they've 
been  the  rounds  and  nobody  '11  have  'em,"  said  Re 
becca. 

"No  mortal  would  have  one  as  a  gift,"  said  Susy. 
"Let 's  give  them  to  the  boys!  " 

"Hear!  Hear!  "cried  the  young  men  in  chorus, 
while  everybody  laughed,  and  Jo  Norris,  rising  to 
make  a  low  bow  to  Susy,  said,  "  She  puts  us  among 
the  immortals !  " 

"Miss  Hetherby  will  be  broken  hearted  if  they 
don't  sell.  Oh  dear!  I  wonder  how  many  will 
drift  into  our  house!  "  said  Rachel  dolefully. 

"Here,  Betty!  "  called  Grace  Desborough,  taking 
one  of  the  baskets  and  going  after  Elizabeth,  who 
was  meandering  around  the  deserted  flower-table, 
in  aimless  search  of  diversion.  Elizabeth  was  tired 
out,  and  wished  it  would  not  be  improper  for  her  to 
climb  up  and  sit  on  the  counter  with  her  brother 
Richard.  Grace  had  a  little  scheme  for  improving 
the  baskets,  and  seeing  the  children,  she  mercifully 
worked  them  into  it.  Elizabeth  was  delighted  to 
be  taken  inside  of  the  bower  and  shown  a  seat  where 
she  could  rest,  and  Richard  thought  Grace  was  the 
loveliest  person  he  had  ever  seen,  when  she  laid  her 
hands  on  the  calves  of  his  legs  and  stopped  him 
from  climbing  down  off  the  counter,  saying,  — 

"No,  no,  don't  get  down.  I  want  a  boy  to  sit 
right  there  and  help  me  make  something." 

"Help,  sitting  down?"  asked  Richard,  in  a  sur 
prised  tone.  "I  thought  boys  helped  running  er 
rands." 


FACE  TO  FACE  WITH  THE  QUESTION. 

Grace  said,  "Poor  child!  "  and  then,  thinking  he 
would  not  like  to  be  pitied,  said,  "They  do  help 
that  way,  ever  and  ever  so  much.  How  many  miles 
do  you  suppose  these  two  feet  have  trotted  to-day 
for  people?" 

Kichard  looked  into  her  eyes,  as  she  stood  before 
him,  with  her  hands  on  his  feet,  and  said  seriously, 
"A  hundred  million  miles,  and  I  just  wish  they 
had  n't  gone  a  step !  " 

Elizabeth  protested,  "O  —  h,  Dick!  How  can 
thee  tell  such  a  story !  And  thee  don't  wish  that, 
when  thee  got  five-cent  grabs  and  pennies,  and  ice 
cream,  and  all  sorts  of  things  to  pay  for  " 

"I  don't  care  if  I  did!  "  snapped  Richard,  spoil 
ing  for  a  quarrel.  "I  don't  care  if  I  did;  my  legs 
got  tired  just  the  same,  and  I  guess  if  thy  legs  had 
bones  in  'em,  thee  'd  " 

"As  if  legs  didn't  always  have  bones!"  said 
Betty  contemptuously. 

"But  he  means  tired  bones,  and  they  are  differ 
ent,  aren't  they?"  asked  Grace,  rubbing  his  small 
legs  up  and  down. 

"Yes,  they  are!"  said  Dick,  looking  thunder 
clouds  at  Betty.  "Friend  Snow  kept  sending  me 
errands  all  the  time  and  kept  saying  she  couldn't 
go  'cause  she  had  a  bone  in  her  leg.  I  mean  that 
kind  and  Betty  knows  it.  An'  I  got  tired  of  grabs 
when  I  found  out  that  lots  of  'em  was  the  same 
thing.  And  then  I  got  too  full  of  ice-cream,  'cause 
all  the  different  ladies  gave  me  plates  without  know 
ing  I  'd  had  any,  an'  it  wasn't  polite  not  to  eat  any, 
and  I  couldn't  help  leaving  some,  — an'  that  ain't 


164  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

polite,  either,  and  Betty  might  have  atten  what  I 
left!" 

"/was  full,  too!  "cried  Betty,  in  self-defense. 
"They  gave  it  to  me  five  times,  and  I  had  to  get 
Delphiny  to  eat  my  last  plate,  so  Friend  Quimby 
would  n't  know  I  did  n't  like  it.  And  I  did  n't "  — 
Betty  stopped,  wanting  to  cry.  She  fought  hard 
with  her  dignity,  not  to  compromise  it  before 
Grace. 

Grace,  seeing  an  opening,  struck  in  deftly  with 
her  scheme  to  improve  the  moss-baskets  by  filling 
them  with  evergreens  and  red  berries,  and  in  a  few 
minutes,  under  her  instruction,  the  children  were 
intently  absorbed  in  delightful  occupation. 

Presently  Will  Hedges,  putting  his  head  under 
one  of  the  arches,  discovered  them. 

"Halloa!  "  he  said.  "What  have  you  here,  Miss 
Desborough?  A  lady-slipper  and  a  dandy -lion! 
How  much  do  you  ask  for  the  two?  I  '11  take  them 
at  once,  if  you  please.  Never  mind  the  price; 
they  're  worth  it.  Whew !  " 

The  children  went  into  fits  of  laughter.  They 
thought  Will  the  embodiment  of  wit,  wisdom,  and 
everything  attractive. 

To  express  his  delight,  Dick  squared  off  at  him. 
Betty  held  up  her  basket. 

"Wh-e-e-ew!  "  whistled  Will.  "Did  thee  make 
that,  Betty,  with  only  ten  fingers?  Well,  is  that 
for  sale?  Can  I  have  it  for  this?"  laying  a  half 
dollar  on  the  counter. 

Betty's  joy  was  supreme.  She  handed  over  the 
basket  instantly.  Will  made  a  bargain  also  for 


FACE  TO  FACE  WITH  THE  QUESTION.      165 

Dick's  basket,  and  the  children  were  so  pleased  with 
the  commercial  transaction  that  they  carried  their 
gains  off  to  show  to  their  father  at  once.  For 
a  moment,  Will  watched  Grace's  hands  fastening 
bitter-sweet  over  the  handle  of  the  basket  which  she 
was  adorning.  He  praised  the  skill  with  which  she 
concealed  its  ugliness,  and  asked  permission  to  pur 
chase  it. 

Grace  demurred  at  his  wholesale  purchases,  but 
he  made  a  point  of  this  one  and  she  yielded.  Prat 
tle  over  it  lasted  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  Will 
asked,  — 

"Aren't  you  tired,  Miss  Desborough?" 

"Only  delightfully  so,"  she  said,  and  with  a  sud 
den,  frank  impulse  she  exclaimed:  "Oh,  I  have  been 
so  happy  here,  Mr.  Hedges !  It  is  as  you  said  it 
would  be;  I  feel  of  more  use  than  I  have  ever  been 
in  my  life.  What  you  said  to  me  that  night  at  the 
Stan  woods'  has  helped  me  so  much  that  I  want  you 
to  know  it." 

She  wondered  whether  she  knew  him  well  enough 
to  say  just  what  she  wanted  to.  Then  she  did  what 
everybody  else  did,  —  she  trusted  him  and  went  on : 
"You  all  seemed  so  strong  and  powerful  to  help 
people,  —  you,  and  the  Stan  woods  and  Mortons, 
and  your  friends !  It  seemed  as  if  you  were  giants, 
and  I  was  an  insignificant  little  pigmy.  I  believe 
I  confessed  as  much,  do  you  remember?  " 

Will  remembered  excellently.  "You  were  so 
busy  measuring  other  people's  power,"  he  said, 
"that  you  forgot  to  put  your  own  into  the  balance." 

She  answered  earnestly,  - 


166  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

"I  did  not  know  I  had  any  to  put  there,  but  you 
said  nobody  had  any  right  to  think  little  of  his  or 
her  own  power;  that  every  mite  of  it  counted,  and 
that  I  could  not  be  really  true  and  earnest  in  wish 
ing  for  it  without  discovering  some.  You  said  I 
could  make  opportunities  to  use  it." 

The  things  which  they  had  said,  and  what  they 
thought,  or  had  thought,  were  of  vast  importance  to 
them  both.  Will's  eyes  gave  her  a  quick  look  of 
pleasure  while  he  exclaimed,  "I  did  not  know  I  said 
anything  worth  remembering  so  long;  it  was  you 
who  inspired  the  thought,  though,  Miss  Desborough. 
I  could  not  get  such  a  fine  one  up,  all  by  myself, 
you  know!  " 

He  made  her  laugh,  and  she  toyed  with  her 
bitter-sweet.  She  was  saying,  "Whether  you  know 
it  or  not,  you  gave  me  courage  to  make  my  first 
real  opportunity,"  when  the  children  came  running 
back,  very  much  excited.  "Quick!  Quick!  Let 
us  in!"  cried  Betty,  while  Dick  backed  unceremo 
niously  into  Will,  saying:  "Boost  me  up!  Boost 
me  up! " 

They  were  in  their  old  places  on  the  counter  in  a 
moment. 

"There  he  is!  See  him!  "  said  Betty,  making  an 
opening  through  the  hemlock  branches.  "Put  thy 
head  right  here,  Dick,  and  he  can't  see  thee." 

Dick,  on  hands  and  knees,  peered  through  the 
opening.  Betty  said  vehemently,  - 

"He's  the  ugliest,  hatefullest,  wickedest  person 
in"- 

"Hold  on,  Betty!"  said  Will,  "Let  me  see  the 


FACE  TO  FACE  WITH  THE  QUESTION.      167 

monster,  too.  When  a  young  lady  talks  like  that, 
I  feel  called  upon  to  protect  her ;  point  out  the  vil 
lain!" 

Betty,  unabashed,  pointed  her  finger  at  a  rather 
elegant-looking  gentleman.  Will  had  never  seen 
him  before. 

"Well,"  said  Will,  "I  expected  to  see  an  ogre, 
and  he  looks  like  only  an  ordinary  man.  What  has 
he  done?" 

Dick  doubled  up  his  fists  at  the  stranger's  distant 
back,  wagged  his  head  wisely  and  said,  with  as  dark 
a  scowl  as  his  apple-face  was  capable  of:  "Thee  don't 
know  about  him,  Cousin  Will!  He  came  to  our 
house  one  day  and  tried  to  steal  Delphina,  and  he 
said  we  had  two  more  slaves  of  his !  And  he  siuears, 
—  he  said  ''nigger!  ' 

"Wait,  Dick,"  Will  said,  and  went  around  inside 
of  the  bower  to  the  children.  He  questioned  them, 
to  make  sure  they  were  not  mistaken  in  the  identity 
of  Mr.  Suydan.  Then  he  went  to  Grace,  and  in  a 
low  tone  asked,  "Can  you  do  a  brave  thing  noio, 
for  a  hunted  slave?  " 

He  was  leaning  his  elbows  on  the  counter  and 
looking  intently  into  her  face.  Her  eyes  quickened, 
and  she  said,  "  I  think  so  —  try  me !  " 

"That  man  is  a  slave-hunter,"  Will  said.  "He 
is  the  master  of  Havilah,  the  Stan  woods'  servant. 
We  must  save  her,  you  and  I,  if  we  can ;  she  is  here, 
somewhere." 

"In  the  anteroom,"  said  Grace,  hurrying  out  of 
her  enclosure.  She  would  have  made  a  rush  for  the 
anteroom,  but  Will  checked  her. 


168  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

"Quietly,  or  we  shall  fail,"  lie  said.  "Don't  be 
frightened,  but  walk  slowly,  so  as  not  to  be  observed. 
Take  my  arm,  please." 

The  sales  were  over  and  the  evening  was  to  close 
with  speeches  and  singing,  to  hear  which  an  audience 
was  beginning  to  assemble.  Benches  were  being 
placed  across  the  centre  of  the  hall  and  people  were 
taking  their  seats  upon  them. 

In  the  anteroom  were  a  number  of  people  busy  in 
preparations  for  closing  up  the  fair.  Some  were 
putting  carefully  into  boxes  unsold  articles  to  be  kept 
for  next  year's  fair;  some  were  doing  up  into  parcels 
the  cooking  utensils  and  things  which  had  been 
loaned  for  the  occasion;  in  one  corner  the  china 
which  had  been  hired  for  the  refreshment  tables  was 
being  disposed  of.  Martha  Quimby  was  washing  it, 
Havilah  was  wiping  and  piling  it  into  convenient 
heaps  for  Jo  Norris,  who  was  packing  it.  They  had 
been  at  work  some  time  and  were  nearly  through. 
Havilah 's  face  wore  the  same  sad  expression  which 
Grace  had  observed  upon  it  on  the  evening  of  the 
Stan  woods'  party,  when  she  had  first  seen  her. 

All  the  gayety  and  cheer  of  the  day  had  made  no 
impression  upon  her.  She  had  worked  industri 
ously  and  efficiently  at  everything  she  had  been 
asked  to  do,  but  without  pleasure.  Intelligent  and 
interested,  she  was  eager  to  be  as  helpful  as  it  was 
in  her  power  to  be,  but  the  occasion,  with  all  its 
activity  and  brightness,  could  not  make  her  forget 
for  an  instant  the  one  fact  which  oppressed  her.  She 
and  her  child  were  slaves  !  Their  master  might,  any 
moment,  reclaim  and  carry  them  South  again.  For 


FACE  TO  FACE   WITH  THE  QUESTION.      169 

herself  alone,  the  thought  was  terrible,  but  for  Diana 
it  was  insupportable.  She  knew  her  master,  and  she 
believed  that  he  would  never  abandon  his  purpose. 
He  would  follow  them  up  until  he  captured  them. 
Her  vivid  imagination  kept  horrors  of  the  worst  kind 
constantly  before  her,  and  they  were  accompanied 
by  a  resolution  which  grew  more  and  more  firmly 
fixed.  But  it  was  a  resolution  which  she  imparted 
to  nobody. 

The  friends  who  protected  her  knew  that  she  could 
not  be  at  peace  anywhere  but  in  Canada,  and  their 
plan  was  to  get  her  there,  with  her  child,  as  soon  as 
they  could.  But  they  had  to  wait  for  an  opportun 
ity.  The  owners  of  runaway  slaves  were  vigilant  in 
their  watch  of  Northern  railroad  stations. 

Instead  of  feeling  that  Diana  was  safer  separated 
from  her,  the  child  w^s  no  sooner  removed  to  the 
Mortons'  than  Havilah  became  possessed  with  the 
fear  that  she  would  be  sought  there  and  carried  off 
alone.  The  chance  of  that  was  more  horrible  to  her 
than  anything  else.  To  escape,  herself,  but  to  have 
her  child  captured,  would  be  far  worse  than  for  both 
to  return  to  slavery  together.  She  had,  intensely, 
the  mother's  longing  to  suffer  whatever  her  child 
must  suffer. 

Whatever  she  did,  and  wherever  she  went,  Havi 
lah  could  not  escape  from  these  visions,  and  they 
imprinted  upon  her  face  an  expression  of  constant 
suspense  and  sorrow. 

William  Hedges  and  Grace  Desborough  stood  in 
the  doorway  with  a  part  of  the  same  suspense  re 
peated  upon  their  faces.  Will  knew  that  it  would 


170  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

be  dangerous  to  have  it  known  that  Havilah  was  in 
peril.  The  discovery  would  make  her  at  once  the 
centre  of  such  solicitude  as  might  be  the  very  means 
of  betraying  her  to  her  master.  Will  was  at  first 
afraid  that  even  Grace's  desire  to  help  the  girl  might 
point  her  out.  He  could  see  that  Grace  was  very 
much  excited. 

"How  shall  we  get  her  without  attracting  atten 
tion?  We  must  think,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  there  is  no  time  to  think!  "  whispered  Grace, 
trembling  very  much.  "If  he  should  follow  us !  " 

"Don't  be  frightened,"  said  Will  again,  standing 
with  his  back  toward  Havilah,  his  eyes  following 
her  master's  movements.  "I  am  watching  him,  and 
he  is  going  the  other  way.  If  you  could  manage 
to  prepare  her  gently  and  get  her  things  on  her,  I 
would  take  her  somewhere.  Only  —  stop!  If  she 
has  been  tracked  and  the  doors  are  being  watched, 
she  '11  be  recognized." 

"  Wait !  Listen !  "  whispered  Grace,  grasping  his 
arm  and  standing  close.  He  bent  his  head  to  her 
without  taking  his  eyes  from  the  Southerner.  "I 
think  I  know  how,"  Grace  whispered,  her  teeth  al 
most  chattering  with  fear:  "my  wraps  are  here;  I 
will  put  them  on  Havilah,  and  you  can  take  her 
downstairs  to  my  carriage.  It  ought  to  be  there. 
People  will  think  you  are  taking  me." 

"Oh,  how  clever  you  are!  "  Will  said.  "Yes  — 
we'll  try  that;  it  will  succeed  if  Havilah  can  take 
it  quietly." 

It  was  just  as  well  that  Martha  Quimby  was  so 
busy,  for,  otherwise,  she  might  have  been  alarmed 


FACE  TO  FACE  WITH  THE  QUESTION.      171 

at  Grace's  pallor  when  the  latter  asked  Havilah  to 
come  away  and  help  her  for  a  minute.  And  it  was 
fortunate  that  the  large  room  was  filling  with  people 
arriving  for  the  speeches  and  singing,  and  that 
Horace  Desborough  was  so  interested  in  helping 
Rachel  to  dismantle  her  table  that  he  stepped  aside 
to  let  William  Hedges  and  Havilah  pass  by  him 
without  looking  at  them. 

Susy  Morton  noticed  them,  but  she  had  not  time 
to  be  nice  in  her  observation  or  she  would  never 
have  mistaken  Havilah's  tall  figure  for  Grace's. 
Without  a  second  glance  she  said  to  Hetty  Bixby,  — 

"  What  a  shame  for  Grace  Desborough  to  have  to 
go  before  the  speaking;  she  will  lose  the  best  part 
of  the  fair." 

When  Rachel  and  Susy  began  the  dismantling 
process  at  their  table,  Horace  Desborough  presented 
himself  once  more,  with  the  offer  of  his  services,  and 
Rachel  accepted  them  with  reluctance.  She  could 
not  pass  him  along  to  the  other  girls,  as  she  had 
passed  Burton  Riverston.  He  was  not  a  person  to 
be  sent  where  he  did  not  incline  to  go.  Yet  here, 
where  he  wanted  to  help,  his  services  were  not  ac 
ceptable.  Rachel  felt  that  they  were  tendered  to 
herself,  personally,  and  that  was  not  agreeable. 
She  felt  under  the  ban  of  Desborough  disapproval, 
and  her  pride  rebelled  against  that  too.  She  had 
been  uncomfortable  ever  since  she  had  learned  that 
Grace  had  come  to  the  fair  under  protest,  and  she 
wanted  the  Desborough  family  forced  to  understand 
that  she  was  not,  in  any  way,  responsible  for  Grace's 
action.  So  she  was  cold  to  Horace  and  tried  her 


172  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

best  to  make  him  feel  that  his  help  was  unnecessary. 
He  had  to  put  himself  on  the  alert  and  find  occupa 
tion,  for  she  would  ask  nothing  of  him.  The  posi 
tion  was  new  to  him  and  his  unfitness  for  it  was 
apparent.  At  last  he  complained.  Susy  had  gone 
to  her  mother's  assistance  and  Horace  seized  the  op 
portunity. 

"  I  feel  very  useless,  Miss  Stanwood,  and  I  would 
really  like  to  be  of  service,"  he  said,  with  a  sort  of 
appeal  for  her  to  believe  him. 

"There  is  nothing  more  to  do  now,  Mr.  Desbor- 
ough,"  she  said,  sitting  down.  "We  have  only  our 
closing  ceremonies  —  the  speaking  and  singing  —  to 
wait  for,  and  they  will  not  interest  you.  Grace  is 
probably  ready  by  this  time,  and  you  must  not  feel 
obliged  to  stay.  If  you  took  her  away,  now,  you 
would  avoid  the  confusion  at  the  last." 

"I  don't  want  to  avoid  anything,"  said  Horace, 
nettled.  "I  have  been  trying  to  help  you,  but  you 
seem  determined  to  spare  me;  you  take  everything 
upon  yourself  without  giving  me  fair  play." 

"I  am  used  to  it,  and  you  " 

"'  And  I '  what?  "  asked  Horace.  "Do  you  think 
me  so  very  inefficient?  " 

"Not  at  all,"  she  said.  "I  believe  the  contrary. 
Only"- 

"'Only  '  what?  Why  cannot  I  have  my  rightful 
share  of  both  the  labor  and  its  reward?"  he  asked. 

"The  reward  you  cannot  have,"  Kachel  answered 
positively.  "That  being  denied  you,  it  would  be  un 
fair  to  give  you  a  full  measure  of  labor.  Indeed,  I 
am  not  sure  that  it  has  been  right  to  give  you  any." 


FACE  TO  FACE  WITH  THE  QUESTION.     173 

"I  don't  know  how  you  make  that  out,"  Horace 
answered,  sitting  down  on  the  bench  with  her.  "  I 
claimed  the  labor,  and  why  can't  I  have  even  the 
little  measure  of  your  approbation  which  I  have 
earned?" 

The  red  came  into  Kachel's  cheeks  as  she  said, 
with  a  tinge  of  haughtiness,  "My  approbation  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  reward  I  mean.  That  would 
be  poorly  worth  laboring  for.  I  was  not  thinking 
of  anything  in  the  least  personal;  I " 

She  paused,  wishing  that  she  had  not  said  any 
thing  which  called  for  explanation.  But  he  waited, 
and  she  added,  "I  meant  the  reward  of  helping  the 
cause  of  abolition.  We  all  have  that  so  at  heart 
that  to  work  for  it  is,  to  us,  a  privilege.  You  don't 
sympathize  with  it  and  so  you  lose  "  It  did  not 
interest  her  to  make  him  understand,  and  she  gave 
up  the  effort  in  an  impatient  exclamation,  "  Oh,  you 
can't  know  what  you  lose!  " 

"I  know  better  than  you  think  I  do,  Miss  Stan- 
wood,"  he  said,  earnestly,  and  a  little  sadly.  He 
was  thinking  that,  at  every  step,  he  lost  ground 
with  her.  Whatever  he  tried  to  talk  about  with  her 
seemed  to  widen  the  gulf  between  them.  She  al 
ways  came  back  to  her  everlasting  hobby  and  seemed 
to  wish  to  keep  only  their  differences  before  him. 

She  misunderstood,  and  wondered  if  she  had  done 
him  injustice.  Perhaps,  after  all,  he  sympathized 
with  his  sister  more  than  he  had  avowed.  She 
turned  her  face  suddenly  to  him,  as  if  she  wanted 
him  to  go  on.  He  repeated,  "I  know  better  than 
you  think  I  do,"  He  was  not  thinking  of  the  anti- 


174  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

slavery  cause,  and  she  was  not  thinking  of  anything 
else. 

Her  eyes  lighted  pleasantly  and  she  asked  eagerly, 
"Then  you  do  care  more  than  I  suppose?  You 
care  more  for  the  liberty  of  the  slaves  and  you  sym 
pathize  less  with  their  masters  than  you  openly  con 
fess?" 

Now  was  his  chance ;  he  might  easily  call  up  one 
of  her  rare  smiles  and  he  longed  to  do  it.  But 
something  about  her  made  him  unwilling  to  be  any 
thing  but  absolutely  honest. 

"I  care  in  my  own  way,"  he  said,  "but  it  is  not 
yours.  I  hate  slavery,  but  I  think  the  abolitionists 
are  "  - 

"  Well  ?  "  she  asked.  "  What  are  we  ?  You  need 
not  mind  saying  what  you  think;  we  are  used  to  be 
ing  called  everything  that  is  bad." 

"You  make  it  hard  for  me,"  he  said,  as  her  ex 
pression  changed  to  one  of  disappointment.  "I 
mean  nothing  bad.  'Fanatics  '  was  the  word  in  my 
mind,  and  I  mean  by  it  only  that  your  enthusiasm 
carries  you  too  far,  —  much  farther  than  I  can  fol 
low,  that  is  all." 

"Where  does  it  carry  us?  What  are  you  afraid 
of?"  she  asked. 

He  answered  earnestly,  "If  you  had  your  way, 
and  slavery  were  suddenly  abolished,  it  would  carry 
you  to  anarchy  and  a  state  of  utter  disorganization. 
It  would  throw  the  people  whom  you  wish  to  help 
into  a  hopeless  condition  of  degradation  and  mis 
ery." 

"What  is  their  condition   now?     Do  you  know 


FACE  TO   FACE  WITH  THE  QUESTION.      175 

enough  about  it  to  contrast  it  with  what  it  might 
be?"  she  asked  coldly. 

"I  have  not  made  a  study  of  the  subject,"  he 
said,  "but  I  think  I  can  see,  by  the  very  nature  of 
things,  that  the  results  of  emancipation  would  be 
dreadful.  And  allow  me  to  put  a  question  also. 
Do  not  your  leaders,  do  you  not  all  gather  your 
impressions  of  the  condition  of  the  slaves  from  ex 
ceptional  cases?  Are  not  the  masses  of  them  prac 
tically  better  off  than  they  would  be  if  they  were 
free?" 

"And  happier?  and  safer?"  she  asked  with  sar 
casm.  "And  why  not  go  farther  and  ask  if  their 
position  is  not  even  enviable,  with  no  responsibility, 
no  care,  no  duty,  except  that  of  submission?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  that,"  said  Horace  warmly. 
"There  is  no  argument  to  prove  slavery  anything 
but  a  curse.  I  hate  the  system,  and  do  not  in  any 
way  defend  it,  but  I  cannot  see  that  any  good  is  ac 
complished  by  the  course  pursued  by  abolitionists. 
It  is  aggressive  and  disorganizing,  and  the  result  is 
that  it  creates  antagonism.  It  makes  people  angry 
and  keeps  their  anger  hot." 

"Whom  does  it  antagonize?  Whom  does  it 
make  angry?"  asked  Rachel.  "Anybody  excepting 
those  who  believe  in  slavery?  And  those  who  don't 
believe  in  it,  but  who  would  not  have  it  disturbed? 
Oh!"  she  cried,  her  face  suddenly  aflame,  "They 
are  worse  than  the  slaveholders!  The  slaveholders 
at  least  believe  in  their  institution,  but  what  can  bo 
said  for  people  who  see  a  wrong,  —  a  wrong  so  ter 
rible  as  to  be  a  curse  upon  the  country,  —  you  called 


17G  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

it  that, — go  on,  and  on,  and  who  will  not  even 
raise  their  voices  to  speak  what  they  believe  lest 
they  'antagonize,'  or  'make  angry  '  the  wrong-doers? 
They  will  cry  out  against  other  wrongs,  but  they 
will  fold  their  hands  and  look  at  this,  the  greatest 
one  of  all,  and  say  nothing  lest  they  might  disturb 
the  peace!  Peace!  It  is  a  wicked,  cruel  peace, 
and  I  wish  the  abolitionists  were  strong  enough  to 
make  a  whole  world  of  people  angry  while  it  lasts!  " 

She  was  glorious  in  her  self -forgetting  scorn. 
Horace  had  never  seen  a  creature  so  beautiful.  He 
looked  at  her  and  did  not  speak  for  a  moment. 
Then  she  came  to  herself.  "I  beg  your  pardon," 
she  said.  "I  did  not  mean  to  get  so  earnest.  I 
don't  believe,  Mr.  Desborough,  that  you  are  one  of 
those  hopelessly  wicked  people.  You  have  only,  as 
you  said,  not  'made  a  study  of  the  subject'  yet." 

"If  you  would  be  my  teacher,  Miss  Stan  wood,  I 
would  engage  to  make  a  serious  study  of  it,"  he  said 
impulsively. 

"No,"  she  said  persistently,  "I  decline  to  think 
you  require  a  teacher ;  I  believe  you  have  only  to 
think  about  the  subject.  You  are  a  lawyer  and 
your  study  is  justice.  But  I  do  want  to  say  one 
thing,  if  you  will  let  me." 

He  begged  her  to  make  it  as  long  as  possible. 
He  could  have  listened  to  her  for  hours. 

"It  is  not  much,"  she  said,  "but  I  want  you  to 
know  —  you,  and  your  father  and  mother  —  that  I 
have  never  used  any  influence  to  persuade  Grace  to 
join  us." 

"Surely  you  need  not  tell  me  that,   Miss  Stan- 


FACE  TO  FACE  WITH  THE  QUESTION.     Ill 

wood,"  he  exclaimed.  "I  am  certain,"  -he  had 
not  been,  but  he  was  now,  —  "that  you  have  not 
made  the  slightest  effort  to  influence  my  sister's 
opinions." 

"Thank  you!"  she  said.  Then,  the  red  coming 
all  over  her  face,  "I  have  never  given  her  any  anti- 
slavery  eloquence.  You  made  me  forget  myself." 

He  was  glad  that  he  had  had  the  power  and 
wished  that  he  could  use  it  often,  but  he  never 
meant  to  be  the  object  of  her  scorn  again. 

"We  were  all  surprised  when  Grace  told  us  her 
views,"  he  said.  "We  did  not  know  that  she  had 
done  such  a  quantity  of  independent  thinking." 

"Perhaps  it  did  not  require  so  vast  an  amount  as 
you  imagine,"  said  Rachel.  "The  anti-slavery  doc 
trine  is  very  simple,  you  know.  I  think" —  She 
looked  into  his  face,  and  stopped. 

"What  do  you  think?  "  he  asked. 

"Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  say  it,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  yes,  do!  "he  said,  with  a  frank  smile  which 
lighted  up  his  face  delightfully,  and  shot  into  her 
mind  a  new  liking  for  him. 

He  went  on.  "I  like  to  hear  what  you  think.  I 
won't  promise  to  agree  with  you,  but  I  am  intensely 
interested." 

"That  is  just  it !  "  she  exclaimed  laughing.  "The 
despised  abolitionists  are  interesting !  There  are 
thousands  of  people  who  would  belong  to  us,  if  they 
only  dared  to  listen.  You  are  braver  than  the  rest, 
and  you  do  dare,  so,  beware !  You  '11  be  where 
Gracie  is  some  day.  Oh,  yes,  you  will!  "  she  cried, 
answering  his  protesting  little  gesture.  "You  have 


178  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

decided  not  to  agree  with  me,  but  you  want  me  to 
talk  about  it,  and,  when  you  find  yourself  face  to 
face  with  the  question,  you  '11  be  on  my  side  of  it, 
—  you  can't  help  yourself!  " 

He  looked  at  her  and  said  in  his  heart  that  he 
would  like  to  be  on  her  side  of  every  question,  his 
life  long. 

Suddenly,  while  he  was  still  looking  at  her,  her 
eyes  flashed  and  she  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Horace,  standing 
beside  her.  Two  gentlemen  approached  the  table, 
and  one,  with  elaborate  courtesy,  said,  "Pray  be 
seated  again,  Miss  Stan  wood.  I  did  not  mean  to 
alarm  you." 

"What  is  it?"  Horace  asked  again.  She  was 
very  pale,  and  seemed  to  be  making  a  violent  effort 
to  control  some  strong  emotion.  She  half  turned  to 
him  and  said,  "Nothing  is  the  matter  with  me,  Mr. 
Desborough.  Ask  that  man  what  he  wants." 

Horace  stepped  in  front  of  her,  as  Mr.  Suydan 
answered  before  the  question  was  repeated. 

"  Miss  Stanwood  knows  what  I  want,  and  I  should 
judge  by  her  manner  that  she  knew  where  I  could 
find  it.  Miss  Stanwood,  this  time  Havilah  Moore 
cannot  escape  me.  A  person  whom  I  have  employed 
to  aid  me  in  recovering  my  property,  has  seen  her 
in  this  building.  As  the  exits  are  watched,  she 
cannot  leave  it  without  being  arrested.  It  will  be 
more  comfortable  for  you  to  give  her  up  quietly." 

"Address  yourself  to  me,  sir,  if  you  please,"  said 
Horace,  "Miss  Stanwood  declines  to  converse  with 
you." 


FACE  TO  FACE  WITH  THE  QUESTION.      179 

Suy dan's  manner  was  insolent. 

"I  don't  care  whom  I  address,  but  I  will  have  the 
woman  I  am  after,"  he  said  angrily. 

"Ask  Will  to  come  here,"  Rachel  said  to  Susy 
Morton,  who  had  returned  just  as  Mr.  Suydan  and 
his  companion  presented  themselves. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Hedges?  "  Horace  asked  Susy. 

"He  has  gone  to  take  your  sister  home.  I  saw 
them  leave  the  hall  together  long  ago,"  said  Susy, 
her  voice  shaking.  She  was  so  frightened  that  she 
did  not  know  she  was  steadying  herself  by  clutching 
Mr.  Desborough's  arm.  "What  shall  we  do?"  she 
whispered,  looking  up  piteously  at  him.  "Those 
men  are  " 

"Never  mind  who  they  are,  or  what  they  want," 
exclaimed  Rachel  peremptorily;  and,  turning  to 
Horace,  she  said  in  a  low  tone,  — 

"Go  and  send  my  father  here.  If  you  cannot 
find  him,  send  —  oh,  send  almost  any  gentleman 
from  over  there  by  the  platform.  But  stay  away 
yourself;  I  entreat  you  not  to  return!  Go!  Go!  " 

She  was  too  earnest  for  him  not  to  obey,  and  he 
went  immediately,  hurt,  angry,  and  puzzled  at  her 
request  to  him  not  to  return.  He  did  not  know 
that  the  speech  he  had  once  made  about  the  justice 
of  returning  fugitive  slaves  to  their  masters  had 
flashed  into  her  mind  and  tilled  her  with  a  sudden 
fear  lest  he  might  betray  Havilah. 

But  this  was  not  a  moment  to  think  of  hurts ;  Ra 
chel  needed  somebody,  and  he  must  send  her  father 
to  her  at  once.  He  would  think  of  the  hurt  after 
ward. 


180  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

The  people  had  settled  into  an  audience  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  hall,  where  the  gentlemen  who 
were  to  speak,  and  the  Hutchinsons,  had  gathered 
upon  the  platform.  Horace  saw  that  Mr.  Stan  wood 
was  acting  as  chairman  and  was  conversing  busily 
with  a  gentleman  who  was  taking  notes.  To  call 
him  away  would  attract  observation,  and  make  peo 
ple  curious;  he  must  get  somebody  else.  Whom 
should  he  ask?  He  hurried  here  and  there,  but 
recognized  no  one.  He  was  afraid  of  addressing 
the  wrong  person.  How  did  he  know  that  the 
slaveholder  had  not  more  friends  in  the  audience? 
On  one  of  the  benches  he  saw  two  common-looking 
men  who  were  making  game  of  something  disagree 
ably.  And  not  far  from  them  was  a  group  of  men 
from  the  street,  who  looked  as  if  they  were  there 
for  the  purpose  of  creating  disturbance.  Horace 
Desborough  had  done  more  than  forget  his  speech 
about  the  rights  of  slaveholders;  he  had  forgotten 
everything  excepting  that  here,  in  this  room,  was 
one  of  them  claiming  a  woman  as  his  property, 
as  he  would  claim  an  animal.  And  the  woman 
was  hiding  somewhere  within  reach.  Instinctively 
Horace  was  bending  every  energy  to  protect  her. 
Never  mind  his  theories,  —  they  were  not  practica 
ble  now.  He  would  help  Eachel  save  the  woman 
first,  and  perhaps  be  consistent  afterwards.  He 
had  seen  Havilah,  and  to  think  of  this  common- 
looking  man  laying  his  hands  upon  her  and  claiming 
her  as  he  would  claim  a  beast,  was  intolerable. 
Every  instant  seemed  an  hour.  Miss  Stan  wood  had 
told  him  to  send  some  one  to  her,  and  there  was  no 


FACE  TO  FACE  WITH  THE  QUESTION.      181 

one  to  send.  In  spite  of  her  entreaty  to  him  to  stay 
away,  he  started  to  go  back  to  her.  Then  he  won 
dered  if  he  could  find  Havilah  first  and  help  in  her 
concealment.  Could  he  save  her  himself?  How? 
Was  there  a  way  to  the  roof?  He  went  to  the  door 
to  see  who  might  be  there,  —  that  man  had  said  the 
exits  were  watched ;  did  he  mean  only  those  on  the 
street?  He  came  against  Will  Hedges  just  enter 
ing.  "Thank  God!"  he  whispered,  seizing  upon 
him.  Will  ha?l  Grace's  wrap  hanging  over  his 
arm,  but  Horace  did  not  notice  it  or  think  of  Grace. 
He  told  Will  hurriedly  what  had  happened  and 
asked,  "What  is  to  be  done?  How  can  we  save 
her?" 

Will's  face  looked  triumphant,  as  if  he  had  won 
a  victory.  His  eyes  shone  as  he  said,  "The  girl  is 
safe.  Your  sister  saved  her!  " 

"  Grace  ?  "  asked  Horace,  not  knowing  if  he  heard 
aright.  "Where  is  she?  " 

"Your  sister  saved  her!  "  repeated  Will,  as  if  the 
fact  gave  him  all  the  joy  he  could  take  in. 

Across  the  hall  Suydan  and  his  companion  were 
contending  with  Kachel  for  admission  into  the  ante 
room,  at  the  door  of  which  she  and  Susy  stood 
guard.  The  buzz  of  conversation  in  the  audience 
was  loud  enough  to  prevent  them  from  attracting 
attention. 

Both  girls  were  in  a  state  of  alarm,  Rachel 
white  to  the  lips.  As  Desborough  reached  the  spot, 
she  was  saying  to  Mr.  Suydan,  "We  have  no  prop 
erty  of  yours  concealed  anywhere,  sir ! '  Then  her 
eyes  lighted  upon  Horace,  and  she  exclaimed,  "Oh, 


182  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

why  are  you  back  again?  Couldn't  you  send  any 
body  to  help  me?"  and  then,  changing  her  tone, 
she  cried  out,  "Oh,  Will!  Will!" 

"What  do  you  want,  gentlemen?"  asked  Will, 
coming  up  to  them. 

At  the  opposite  end  of  the  room,  Wendell  Phil 
lips,  stepping  forward  on  the  platform,  was  greeted 
with  loud  and  continued  applause.  Under  cover  of 
the  noise,  Suydan  raised  his  voice  and  said  angrily, 
pointing  to  the  door  behind  Eachel,  "  We  want  to 
go  into  that  room!  My  slave,  Havilah  Moore,  is 
there!" 

Rachel  lost  herself.  Impulsively,  believing  that 
Havilah  was  in  the  anteroom,  and  that  the  inevita 
ble  moment  for  her  capture  had  come,  she  cried  out, 
"Havilah  Moore  is  the  slave  of  no  man,  — she  is  a 
free  woman !  a  free  woman !  " 

"Open  the  door,  Desborough,"  said  Will.  "We 
will  all  go  into  the  room,  if  you  please."  He  mo 
tioned  to  Eachel  and  Susy  to  precede  them. 

He  was  the  last  one  to  enter  the  anteroom  and 
closed  the  door.  Rachel  gave  a  moan.  Horace 
tried  to  speak  to  her,  but  she  turned  away  from  him. 
It  seemed,  at  first,  as  if  the  room  was  deserted, 
but  in  a  moment  they  saw  a  figure  in  a  long,  dark 
cloak,  crouching  on  a  bench  in  the  corner,  among  a 
pile  of  shawls  and  wraps.  Suydan  made  a  quick 
step  toward  it,  but  Will  Hedges  intercepted  him, 
saying  in  a  commanding  tone,  "Not  a  step  nearer, 
sir!  You  mistake!"  Then,  bending  over  the  fig 
ure,  he  whispered  something,  and  the  golden  head  of 
Grace  lifted  itself  out  of  the  wraps. 


FACE  TO  FACE  WITH  THE  QUESTION.      183 

"You  may  search  where  you  please,  gentlemen," 
said  Will,  smiling  like  a  conqueror,  "but  you  must 
not  lay  a  finger  upon  the  wrong  person!  " 

There  was  an  outcry  of  joy  from  Eachel  and 
Susy,  who  took  possession  of  Grace. 

Suydan  began  to  talk  loud  and  to  look  about  the 
room  for  other  exits  or  places  of  concealment.  His 
companion,  who  had  maintained  an  attitude  of  silent 
scrutiny  throughout,  urged  him  now  to  leave  the 

building  to  the  "d d  nigger  -  abolition  maii- 

stealers." 

Horace  Desborough  confronted  them  both. 
"Words  like  those  are  dangerous  for  you  gentle 
men,"  he  said.  "Show  a  warrant  for  your  search, 
or  give  up  looking  for  your  property  here." 

There  was  an  angry  dispute,  which  ended  with  the 
discovery  that  Suydan,  on  this  occasion,  had  come 
without  legal  authority  for  the  arrest  of  Havilah, 
and  that  his  companion  was  not  a  constable. 

"Then  the  sooner  you  leave  the  better,"  said 
Horace,  at  last,  with  angry  dignity.  "You  can  ex 
press  your  opinions  of  abolitionists  outside.  They 
are  having  a  meeting  in  the  next  room,  and  you 
make  yourselves  liable  to  arrest  for  disturbing  the 
peace." 

"Don't  urge  the  gentlemen  to  go  yet  awhile," 
said  a  mild  voice,  and  Mr.  Abner  Cumley  advanced, 
rubbing  his  hands  and  with  a  beaming  countenance. 
He  had  perceived,  from  the  platform,  that  a  dis 
turbance  of  some  kind  was  going  on,  and  had  come 
unobserved  into  the  little  room  to  inquire  into  it. 

"  It  is  a  pity  to  deny  anybody  an  opportunity  to 


184  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

hear  Wendell  Phillips,"  Mr.  Cumley  continued. 
"There  are  vacant  seats  at  the  back  of  the  hall,  gen 
tlemen,"  with  an  inviting  motion  of  the  hand  toward 
the  large  room.  "If  yon  wish  to  occupy  two  of 
them,  you  will  hear  the  close  of  a  most  eloquent  ad 
dress  by  Mr.  Phillips,  and,  after  one  or  two  others, 
William  Lloyd  Garrison  will  speak." 

"Grace!  You  saved  her!"  Horace  cried,  bend 
ing  over  his  sister,  after  the  men  had  gone.  His 
tone  was  one  of  heartfelt,  honest  joy.  He  did  not 
know  that  Rachel  heard  him,  or  that,  of  all  the 
smiles  he  had  ever  seen  upon  her  face,  the  most 
beautiful  one  was  there  now,  for  him.  It  was  a 
time  of  feeling  which  was  too  intense  for  them  to 
recall  speeches  in  conversations  that  were  past. 
But  Rachel  was  right,  —  Horace  Desborough  had 
been  "face  to  face  with  the  question,"  and  he  was 
upon  her  side  of  it ! 


CHAPTER   IX. 

A    SLEIGH    RIDE. 

"AND  now  Grace  will  settle  down  again,  I  hope," 
Mrs.  Desborough  said  to  her  husband  and  son. 
"She  has  had  her  way,  and  I  hope  and  pray  she  has 
had  enough  to  satisfy  her  and  cure  her  ridiculous 
anti-slavery  fever.  Horace,  you  must  take  her  to 
the  opera  and  other  places.  If  you  accept  a  few 
invitations  and  go  with  her,  she  '11  come  back  to 
herself.  I  am  glad  the  Gray  thorns'  ball  is  coming 
soon." 

And  because  Horace  made  no  reply,  Mrs.  Des 
borough  thought  he  sympathized  with  her. 

She  thought  it  was  the  reaction  from  excitement 
and  overwork  which  made  Grace  pale  and  more 
quiet  than  ever.  She  was  delighted  to  see  Horace 
apparently  act  upon  her  suggestion  and  ask  his  sis 
ter,  one  afternoon  in  January,  to  take  a  sleigh  ride 
with  him.  Grace  accepted  his  invitation  eagerly, 
and  Mrs.  Desborough,  from  the  window,  watched 
them  start  off,  with  satisfaction  in  her  soul,  think 
ing  how  excellent  her  advice  had  been,  and  how  ad 
mirably  it  was  going  to  work.  She  turned  away 
from  the  window,  thinking,  "  The  ride  will  do  Grace 
more  good  than  anything.  It  will  take  her  mind 
away  from  that  fair  and  everything  connected  with 


186  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

it.  Horace  lias  so  much  tact;  he  will  interest  her 
in  fresh  things." 

Horace  and  Grace  had  given  but  a  meagre  account 
of  their  experiences  at  the  fair.  The  story  of 
Havilah's  escape  came  out  piecemeal,  and  the  impor 
tant  part  Grace  had  played  in  it  did  not  make  much 
of  a  showing.  The  woman  had  worn  Grace's  wrap 
as  a  disguise,  and  it  was  just  like  Grace  to  lend  it 
for  such  a  purpose.  It  would  be  just  like  her,  too, 
never  to  mind  the  association  afterwards.  But  it 
was  of  no  consequence,  for  she  was  to  have  a  new 
and  far  handsomer  wrap  to  wear  to  the  Graythorn 
ball.  As  for  Horace,  he  seemed  even  less  inclined 
than  his  sister  was  to  talk.  But  he  appeared  very 
much  absorbed  in  his  business,  leaving  home  earlier 
and  returning  later.  His  mind  was  occupied  with 
more  important  things,  and  since  he  did  not  want  to 
talk  about  the  fair  and  the  set  of  people  connected 
with  it,  why  should  he  be  bored? 

These  were  Mrs.  Desborough's  thoughts,  and  they 
carried  her  away  from  a  real  understanding  of  her 
two  children  as  rapidly  as  the  sleigh,  on  that  after 
noon,  carried  the  two  children  over  the  crisp  snow. 

It  was  a  rare  day  for  a  sleigh  ride.  The  sky  was 
clear,  the  snow  hard,  and  the  atmosphere,  with  no 
wind  to  speak  of,  just  too  cool  for  thaw. 

Over  all  the  unsightly  rubbish  of  dumping  grounds, 
building  lots,  cattle-pens  and  shanties,  the  snow  lay 
in  its  new  purity  and  its  picturesque,  fantastic  med 
ley  of  blue  shadows.  There  was  only  a  beautiful 
world  visible  that  day ;  the  wickedness  and  deform 
ities  of  New  York  seemed  covered  up.  A  thaw 


A  SLEIGH  RIDE.  187 

would  come  on  the  morrow,  but  it  would  take  twen 
ty-four  hours  for  it  to  lift  the  cover  and  reveal  the 
city's  skeletons  again. 

It  need  not  have  stayed  away  on  Horace's  or 
Grace's  account,  for  they  lost  most  of  the  charm  of 
this  visitation  of  the  snow.  They  were  both  so  ab 
sorbed  in  thought  that  they  did  not  see  it,  and  for 
some  time  neither  of  them  spoke.  Then  Horace, 
slowing  his  horse,  looked  about  him  and  said:  "I 
did  not  mean  to  bring  you  to  Harlem,  Grace.  It 
is  not  half  so  pretty  as  the  west  side,  up  Broadway." 

"Never  mind;  I  did  not  know  we  had  come  this 
way.  I  really  don't  care  where  we  go,"  said  Grace. 

"That  remark  may  be  either  insulting,  or  com 
plimentary;  which  way  shall  I  interpret  it?"  said 
Horace,  looking  down  upon  her  with  a  smile. 

Grace  smiled  back  at  him,  like  a  child  awakening, 
and  said:  "I  don't  think  it  meant  anything  at  all; 
it  is  hard  to  think  to-day." 

"Or  hard  not  to  —  which?"  asked  her  brother. 
"I  can't  get  my  mind  away  from  all  that  fair  busi 
ness  ;  can  you  yours  ?  " 

Grace  wakened  more  and  said:  "I  did  n't  think 
you  were  troubled.  I  thought  your  business  was 
crowding  that  out  of  your  memory.  Mamma  thinks 
Gray  thorn  &  Benderly  are  overworking  you." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  have  been  shirking.  They 
have  a  right  to  complain  of  me,"  said  Horace,  turn 
ing  his  horse  west,  through  125th  Street.  "I  've 
been  taking  long  walks  and  doing  my  own  thinking, 
not  theirs.  I  can't  get  my  mind  back  on  to  their 
business,  Grace;  it  sticks  at  the  fair." 


188  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

Grace  repeated,  "I  thought  it  was  only  my  mind, 
not  yours,  which  was  doing  that,  Horace.  My 
mind  is  so  little  that  there  is  n't  room  in  it  for  more 
than  one  thing  at  a  time."  She  was  trying  to  be 
funny,  but  while  her  tone  was  bright  enough,  her 
meaning  was  dreary. 

"If  that  one  thing  is  the  fair,  your  mind  must  be 
a  vast  one,  Gracie,"  said  Horace. 

She  liked  him  to  call  her  "Gracie."  She  always 
felt,  when  he  did  so,  on  closer  terms  with  him;  her 
awe  of  him  was  less  and  she  was  more  ready  to  be 
confidential. 

She  laughed,  saying  idly,  "What  an  idea!  " 

"It  is  not  such  an  easy  matter  to  measure  any 
body's  mind,"  he  went  on.  "That  last  night  I  came 
suddenly  upon  a  corner  of  my  own  which  I  never 
before  knew  existed." 

"Oh,  Horace!  "  cried  Grace,  her  eyes  brightening 
with  admiration  of  him.  "You  mean  when  Havi- 
lah  escaped.  You  were  glad  of  that;  you  couldn't 
have  seen  that  man  take  her  back  to  slavery! " 

"Grace,"  said  Horace,  with  sudden,  bold  confi 
dence,  "I  had  to  fight  myself  to  keep  my  hands  from 
her  master's  throat!  " 

"  And  I  was  afraid  of  you !  "  cried  Grace.  "  Think 
how  dreadful  I  was !  I  am  going  to  confess  every 
thing  now.  When  Mr.  Hedges  and  I  were  trying 
to  save  Havilah,  we  had  to  pass  by  you.  I  could 
have  touched  you,  but  I  hurried  Mr.  Hedges  along. 
You  know  how  you  —  you  used  to  say  that  slave 
holders  had  a  right  to  their  property,  and  all  that ; 
and  I  was  afraid  you  would  not  approve  of  what  we 


A  SLEIGH  EWE.  189 

were  doing.  It  was  awfully  unjust  not  to  trust  you, 
Horace !  You  showed  me  afterwards  how  noble  you 
are!  You  'd  have  saved  Havilah  yourself,  in  a 
better  "- 

"No,  I  would  not  —  nobody  could.  Don't  talk 
nonsense!"  exclaimed  Horace.  "It  was  merciful 
that  the  chance  fell  to  you,  little  girl.  I  could  not 
have  been  so  quiet  about  it.  Hedges  is  used  to  it, 
and  knew  how  to  keep  cool ;  did  you  ever  see  such 
a  fellow  ?  You  ought  to  have  seen  his  face  when 
he  told  me  you  had  saved  the  girl!  He  's  got  more 
nerve  than  anybody  I  ever  saw.  When  he  wants 
himself,  he  '11  be  there,  Gracie !  But  I !  I  '11  con 
fess  that  the  moment  I  recognized  the  fact  that  the 
woman  was  in  danger,  there  seemed  nothing  else  to 
do  but  to  save  her  at  any  cost.  I  lost  sight  of  every 
thing  else  and  I  believe  I  'd  have  pitched  into  that 
man,  then  and  there,  if  I  had  seen  him  lay  a  hand 
upon  her.  It  was  impulse,  instinct,  I  don't  know 
what,  but  I  know  I  could  not  have  controlled  my 
self.  Grace,  I  would  give  more  to  have  that  act  of 
yours  down  on  my  record,  than  to  have  any  honor 
the  world  can  give  me!  " 

"But  it  was  n't  noble  in  me,  either,  Horace," 
Grace  insisted.  "It  was  only  what  you  said  just 
now,  instinct,  impulse.  There  was  n't  any  time  to 
think  and  plan.  It  seemed  as  if  the  girl's  life  was 
in  my  hands,  and  I  had  to  save  her!  May  be  it 's 
ridiculous,  but  I  think  I  'd  have  done  it,  even  if 
Mr.  Hedges  had  not  been  there.  Afterwards  it  all 
seemed  like  a  dream,  and  I  didn't  half  understand 
what  the  people  were  saying  to  me.  And  now, 


190  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

since  it  all  happened,  I  don't  feel  like  the  same  per 
son.  I  am  so  glad  of  the  chance  to  talk  it  all  over. 
What  shall  I  do?  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  could  go 
back  and  live  the  same  kind  of  life  I  did  before. 
The  very  thought  of  that  Graythorn  ball  is  tiresome 
to  me.  But  mamma  thinks  you  want  me  to  go. 
Do  you?" 

"Poor  little  girl!  Her  troubles  are  much  too 
big  for  her  limited  little  mind;  aren't  they?  "  said 
her  brother,  reaching  his  left  arm  over  the  back  of 
the  seat  and  putting  on  a  comical  expression  of  pity 
as  he  looked  down  at  her.  Then  he  straightened 
himself  and  said,  — 

"Mamma  is  right,  Gracie;  I  do  rather  want  you 
to  go.  I  know  how  you  feel,  because  " 

Horace  stopped,  with  a  doubt  as  to  the  wisdom 
of  being  confidential  on  so  many  points.  It  was 
rather  the  family  custom  to  spare  Grace  perplexing 
thoughts. 

She  was  looking  up  at  him,  wondering  if  her 
mother  was  right  in  thinking  that  he  admired  Miss 
Graythorn  so  very  much.  Horace  began  again  and 
yielded  to  his  impulse  to  take  her  further  into  his 
confidence. 

"It  is  important  for  a  good  many  reasons,  Gracie 
dear,"  he  said.  "You  know  that  my  prospects  de 
pend  largely  upon  my  pleasing  the  firm.  I  shall 
disappoint  papa  dreadfully  if  I  fail  to  do  that,  and 
I  'm  afraid  I  'm  not  likely  to  please  either  them  or 
him  just  now.  At  least  I-  After  that  experi 
ence  at  the  fair,  I  feel" —  He  made  a  bold  dash 
finally,  and  said,  "The  fact  is,  I  am  in  a  tighter 


A  SLEIGH  EIDE.  191 

box  than  you  are.  The  firm  are  very  decidedly  pro- 
slavery  in  their  principles.  They  are  even  bitterly 
so.  The  case  they  first  put  me  on,  a  year  ago,  in 
volved  the  defense  of  those  very  principles,  —  the 
right  of  a  southern  planter  to  recover  his  property 
in  slaves.  A  little  point  of  law  which  I  happened 
to  rake  up  just  at  the  right  time,  established  the 
firm's  confidence  in  me  and  I  took  what  papa  called 
a  great  step  forward  in  my  profession.  And  now, 
recently,  another  case  somewhat  similar  to  that  one 
has  come  up  and  they  have  given  me  almost  sole 
charge  of  it.  But  my  work  on  it  has  come  to  a 
standstill.  Since  this  fair  business,  my  interest, 
sympathy,  conviction,  —  all  have  been  reversed.  I 
want  the  firm  to  be  —  I  want  them  to  be  defeated, 
that's  the  long  and  short  of  it,  my  dear!  Don't 
misunderstand  me,  Grace;  I  'm  not  a  ranting,  roar 
ing  abolitionist  yet.  But  I  'm  not  the  fellow  I 
was,  or  the  fellow  Messrs.  Gray  thorn  and  Benderly 
and  my  father  think  I  am.  I  'd  give  a  good  deal 
to  know  just  what  and  where  I  am!  I  feel  like 
going  on  an  exploring  expedition  to  discover  my 
self,  Grade!" 

He  smiled  down  upon  her  as  if  it  was  pleasant  to 
have  confided  in  her. 

"Oh,  how  hard!"  she  said  sadly.  "How  will 
you  ever  straighten  it  out?  I  see  it  all.  You  have 
pledged  yourself  to  the  case,  and  now  you  would 
like  to  give  it  up  and  let  reputation  and  everything 
go  to  the  winds!  I  don't  see  how  it  is  to  help,  but 
I  '11  go  to  the  ball  and  do  anything  else  you  want 
me  to,  dear, — indeed  I  will."  The  thought  came 


192  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

how  very  difficult  his  course  would  be,  if  he  did 
care  for  Miss  Graythorn,  and,  beside  his  perplexi 
ties,  her  own  seemed  almost  trivial. 

"Thank  you!"  he  said.  "I  believe  it  will  be 
better  for  us  to  go." 

They  rode  in  silence  for  a  little  while.  Then 
Horace  said,  "I  am  glad  we  have  had  this  talk, 
Gracie;  without  it  you  could  hardly  have  pieced  to 
gether  my  old  arguments  and  my  joy  over  that  slave 
woman's  escape,  could  you?  " 

"No,"  she  said,  absently,  and,  after  a  minute, 
added,  "but  there  is  something  else,  Horace." 

"Is  there?"  he  asked.  "Out  with  it,  then! 
Let's  have  a  clean  breast  of  it."  He  slowed  the 
horse  into  a  walk,  and  put  his  hand  over  her  shoul 
ders  again,  while  he  said,  "You  and  I  have  come  to 
a  turning-point  in  life's  journey,  I  'm  thinking,  and 
it  looks  as  if  we  were  going  to  need  each  other's 
help  now  and  then.  We  mustn't  spoil  to-day  with 
any  reserves,  my  dear;  what  is  the  'something 
else'?" 

Grace  innocently  startled  him  with  her  answer. 
She  looked  up  anxiously  and  said,  "Kachel!  " 

His  face  flushed  crimson,  but  he  turned  away  too 
quickly  for  her  to  see.  "What  about  her?"  he 
asked. 

"Do  you  still  think  I  ought  to  be  less  intimate 
with  her?  "  she  asked,  and  then  protested,  "I  can't 
do  that,  Horace;  I  love  her  too  dearly  and  she 
is"  — 

"Forget  everything  I  ever  said  about  her,"  he 
interrupted,  "and  let  me  begin  all  over  again,  so 


A  SLEIGH  RIDE.  193 

far  as  she  is  concerned.  The  fact  is  I  have  new  im 
pressions,  to  color  —  or  perhaps  exchange  for  —  my 
old  ones  of  Miss  Stan  wood.  I  would  give  you  now 
to  understand  "  His  phrases  were  getting  stilted. 
He  broke  away  from  them  and  exclaimed  with  his 
most  genuine  heartiness,  "Consider  all  my  unfavor 
able  opinions  revoked,  Grace,  my  dear !  They  were 
ghosts  of  opinions,  not  real  ones,  —  forget  them  all, 
and  help  me  to  begin  again  with  her  and  to  come  in 
for  a  share  of  her  regard,  if  you  can !  " 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad  you  feel  so,  Horace! "  Grace 
exclaimed  joyfully.  "Mamma  will  be  influenced  by 
you  and  will  change  her  opinion  too,  and  perhaps 
things  won't  be  so  hard  after  all!  Then  I  am  going 
on  just  the  same  with  Rachel  and  we  can  all  be 
friends  together,  if  you  will!  " 

"If  she  will!  "  Horace  said  in  an  undertone. 

When  they  reached  home,  dinner  was  waiting  and 
Eloise  scowled  at  their  late  coining. 

"The  one  perfect  day  of  the  season  for  a  sleigh 
ride!"  Mr.  Desborough  remarked,  when  they  were 
seated  at  the  table.  "Tell  us  about  it;  where  did 
you  go?" 

It  was  as  difficult  a  question  as  he  could  have 
asked,  but  it  required  no  answer,  for  Mrs.  Desbor 
ough  exclaimed,  "You  look  as  fresh  as  the  day,  — 
both  of  you!  The  ride  has  done  you  good." 

Horace,  meeting  Grace's  eyes  across  the  table, 
said,  with  a  smile,  "Yes,  it  has  done  us  good." 


CHAPTER   X. 

TIBBIE   LEAENS   ABOUT   ORGAN   STOPS. 

"Now  that's  over;  what  comes  next?  "was  the 
question  at  the  Stan  woods'  after  the  fair  was  ended. 

"There  will  be  no  peace  until  Havilah  Moore 
and  her  child  are  in  Canada.  We  must  get  them 
aboard  the  underground  railroad  as  soon  as  possi 
ble,"  Mr.  Stanwood  said. 

But  there  were  objections  to  this.  Havilah's  lit 
tle  girl  was  delicate,  and  the  climate  of  Canada,  it 
was  thought,  would  endanger  her  life.  Mother  and 
child  were  at  the  Quimbys'  now,  and  as  their  house 
was  one  which  had  never  before  harbored  fugitives, 
Mrs.  Stanwood  felt  sure  they  were  safe.  Suydan 
was  not  going  to  abandon  his  pursuit  of  them,  that 
was  clear.  He  seemed  to  be  spending  most  of  his 
time  in  the  city,  and  it  was  supposed  that  other 
business,  as  well  as  the  search  after  his  slaves,  de 
tained  him  there. 

Happy-go-lucky  Delphina  refused  to  budge  from 
the  vicinity  of  her  first  protectors.  She  was  con 
tent  at  the  Mortons'  because  of  their  connection 
and  intimacy  with  the  Stanwood  family,  but  farther 
away  she  could  not  be  persuaded  to  go.  So  far 
from  being  troubled,  she  could  not  be  even  suffi 
ciently  impressed  with  a  sense  of  danger  because  of 


TIBBIE  LEARNS  ABOUT  ORGAN  STOPS.      195 

her  master's  presence  in  the  city.  She  always  stuck 
to  the  same  argument:  "Marse  Tawm  ain't  smaht 
'nough  to  cotch  dis  yer  niggeh.  He  done  tried  it, 
an'  he  hed  to  gib  it  up.  No,  Miss  Mawton,"  she 
insisted,  "he's  arter  de  wrong  nig,  —  'sense  me, 
Miss  Mawton,  I  mean  pusson.  Hawyet  Wilson 
b'longed  to  Marse  Tawm  Lawkwood  Suydan,  but 
Delphiny  K.  Simpson  b'longs  to  de  Stanwood  an' 
Mawton  famblies,  an'  she  's  gwine  to  wuk  fo'  dem 
twell  she  draps  dade!  " 

This  pretense  of  losing  her  identity  in  an  assumed 
name  tickled  Delphina  mightily,  and  she  always 
laughed  over  it  as  if  she  had  ready  for  Mr.  Suydan 
a  trap  from  which  there  was  no  escape. 

Running  parallel  with  that  of  the  fair,  a  steady 
campaign  had  been  going  on  at  the  Stanwoods',  in 
which  figured  Tibbie  MacClare,  as  an  active  army 
of  difficulties,  and  Mr.  Franz  Kreutsohn,  Rachel's 
music  teacher,  as  commander-in-chief . 

Mr.  Kreutsohn  had  been  Rachel's  teacher  since 
she  was  twelve  years  old.  At  that  time  Mr.  Stan- 
wood,  whose  standard  of  education  was  higher  than 
his  income,  answered  the  advertisement  of  a  Ger 
man  gentleman  who  wanted  to  live  with  an  Ameri 
can  family  and  exchange  lessons  in  music  and  Ger 
man  for  instruction  in  English.  The  result  was 
the  establishment  of  Mr.  Kreutsohn  for  a  time  as 
a  member  of  the  family,  with  Rachel  as  a  pupil,  in 
German  only  —  music,  although  not  regarded  from 
the  severe  Quaker  standpoint,  being  ruled  out  as  an 
unnecessary  luxury.  But  Mr.  Kreutsohn 's  piano 


196  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

had  to  come  with  him,  and,  being  too  clumsy  to  be 
carried  upstairs,  it  was  tolerated,  rather  than  wel 
comed,  in  the  parlor.  To  Rachel  it  was  a  joy  from 
the  beginning.  In  a  very  little  while  Mr.  Kreut- 
sohn  discovered  that  she  had  unusual  musical  talent, 
and  her  parents  were  easily  persuaded  to  allow  him 
to  cultivate  it.  By  the  time  his  older  sister  came 
from  Germany  to  keep  house  for  him  and  he  went  to 
live  with  her,  Rachel's  music  had  become  a  part  of 
her  life.  Another  piano  was  provided  for  her,  and 
her  lessons  were  continued. 

Among  the  many  warm  and  sincere  friends  who 
visited  the  Stanwoods,  110  one  was  more  loved  and 
honored  than  Mr.  Kreutsohn.  He  was  a  musician 
to  the  marrow  of  his  bones.  He  was  also  a  wise 
man,  well  read,  searching,  and  thorough  in  every 
thing  which  he  undertook. 

When  he  undertook  Tibbie  MacClare  he  recog 
nized  her  as  a  difficult  subject.  From  the  moment 
when  he  had  heard  her  sing  at  the  Stanwoods'  party 
his  heart  fairly  ached  for  the  privilege  of  directing 
her  musical  education.  He  perceived  that  evening, 
in  the  quality  and  compass  of  her  voice,  material 
from  which  might  develop  as  rare  a  singer  as  any 
ever  heard.  The  very  passion  which  caused  her 
tantrum  after  her  song  ended,  would,  if  she  learned 
to  control  it,  give  her  power  without  limitation. 

Mr.  Kreutsohn  was  original  in  everything  he  did, 
and  his  method  of  dealing  with  Tibbie  partook  of 
his  genius.  He  began  by  getting  a  little  acquainted 
with  her,  drawing  her  into  conversations  on  various 
subjects  and  getting  at  her  opinions.  In  religion 


TIBBIE  LEARNS  ABOUT  ORGAN  STOPS.     197 

he  found  her  superstitious  and  bigoted.  The  most 
rigid  form  of  Scotch  Presbyterianism  was  the  only 
one  with  which  Tibbie  was  familiar.  It  was  the 
form  farthest  from  the  comprehension  or  sympathy 
of  a  man  like  Mr.  Kreutsohn,  and  he  dealt  with  it 
according  to  his  own  interpretation. 

After  acquainting  himself  somewhat  with  the  in 
strument  with  which  he  had  to  deal,  he  tried  it,  and 
one  day  asked  Tibbie  to  sing.  She  did  not  know 
that  he  had  heard  her  before,  and  expected  to  aston 
ish  him.  She  sang  her  best  and  then  looked  for  the 
burst  of  admiration  to  which  she  was  accustomed. 
The  musician  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  fore 
head,  put  his  hands  on  his  knees  and  looked  scru- 
tinizingly  at  Tibbie  for  a  moment.  Then  he  said 
gravely,  "My  child,  the  good  God  has  lent  to  you 
one  of  his  instruments  that  is  the  most  beautiful  and 
wonderful  of  all.  If  you  can  work  hard  and  learn 
to  use  it  in  the  way  God  means  you  to  do  it,  there 
will  come  one  day  when  you  can  make  that  voice 
like  a  thousand  of  the  best  angels  the  Lord  sends 
to  tell  his  messages  to  his  people,  and  you  can 
make  much  good  in  the  world.  But  —  look  to  me, 
and  believe  what  I  tell  to  you  —  there  is  one  oder 
thing."  He  was  getting  earnest  and  his  English 
broke  occasionally  into  dialect.  Holding  up  a 
warning  finger  to  Tibbie,  he  went  on  seriously, 
"one  oder  thing  what  you  can  do  with  that  voice, 
—  you  can  make  it  bring  to  the  people  bad,  ugly 
messages  from  the  great  Tevil !  And  all  his  little 
tevils  will  help  you  to  carry  dose  messages !  Yes, 
rny  child,  I  tell  you  it  is  de  truth,  —  I  tell  you  what 


198  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

power  you  make  with  tliat  woice,  it  will  depend  on 
vich  of  dose  angels  or  dose  tevils  gets  to  de  inside 
of  your  soul! " 

Tibbie  believed  in  the  devil,  and  listened  to  Mr. 
Kreutsohn's  prophecy  as  one  quite  possible  of  fulfill 
ment.  She  looked  up  into  his  face  with  anxious 
eyes  and,  as  he  ended,  she  knitted  her  fingers  to 
gether  and  asked  with  a  tremulous  voice,  — 

"  And  —  and  which  '11  win  the  day,  do  ye 
think?" 

The  wise  old  German  answered  her  without  smil 
ing,  "That  is  for  only  you  to  settle."  He  waited  a 
moment  for  her  serious  impression  to  have  full 
effect,  and  then  said,  encouragingly,  "But  there  is 
great  help  for  you.  There  are  these  people  where 
you  have  a  home,  and  this  best  Miss  Rachel,"  with 
a  motion  of  his  hand  toward  Rachel,  who  sat  by,  lis 
tening  with  quiet  interest.  "And  if  you  will  have 
it  so,  there  is  this  old  man." 

He  turned  toward  Rachel,  and  rising,  he  held  out 
one  hand  to  her  and  the  other  to  Tibbie,  saying, 
"Come,  what  do  you  say?  We  shall  fight  de  big 
and  cle  little  tevils,  —  all  togedder !  So? " 

And  Tibbie  went  home  from  her  first  lesson  with 
out  praises  of  her  voice,  but  with  something  else  to 
think  about. 

"If  anybody  alive  can  manage  Tibbie,  I  believe 
it  is  Uncle  Franz  Kreutsohn,"  said  Rachel,  from 
her  side  of  the  evening  lamp,  "and  I  hope  she  won't 
be  influenced  at  present  by  any  chance  discovery  of 
the  nature  of  our  religious  views." 

Her  mother  and  she  were  darning  the  week's 
stockings  at  the  large  round  centre  table. 


TIBBIE  LEAKNS  ABOUT  OEGAN  STOPS.     199 

"If  he  succeeds  in  subduing  Genius,  I,  for  one, 
will  not  hereafter  speak  disparagingly  of  the  devil," 
said  Mr.  Stanwood,  settling  himself  in  an  armchair. 
It  was  rather  difficult  for  Mr.  Stanwood  to  remem 
ber  the  names  of  all  the  sinners  who  came  to  live 
under  his  roof,  and  he  was  apt  to  invent  cognomens 
of  his  own.  He  had  called  Tibbie  "Genius,"  from 
her  first  appearance.  While  he  was  adjusting  his 
spectacles  and  deciding  what  to  read  in  the  evening 
paper,  he  continued:  "If  she  stays  long  enough  and 
I  get  an  introduction  to  the  Old  Gentleman,  I  '11 
take  off  my  hat  to  him  and  his  family.  And,  who 
knows?  In  time,  Debby,  I  may  induce  him,  for  thy 
sake,  to  go  to  the  Convicts'  Refuge,  and  if  I  can  be 
spry  enough,  I  '11  nab  some  of  the  imps  for  the 
Juveniles'  House  of  Correction!  If  Genius  doesn't 
suddenly  blaze  and  disappear  up  the  chimney  in 
a  cloud  of  sulphur,  with  the  whole  legion  after 
her!" 

Mrs.  Stanwood  smiled  benignly  and  only  said,  "I 
don't  believe  the  poor  child  is  possessed  of  m,ore 
than  seven,  and  I  think  Franz  can  manage  those." 

So,  the  contending  difficulties  in  Tibbie's  disposi 
tion  were  openly  acknowledged  at  the  outset,  and  it 
was  hoped  that  this  united  attack  would  result  in 
victory  over  them. 

For  a  little  while  her  music  lessons  went  on 
smoothly  and  Mr.  Kreutsohn  did  not  come  upon 
any  serious  snags.  The  first  flash  of  powder  which 
surprised  him  was  the  resentment  which  she  showed 
one  day,  when  he  pointed  out  certain  defects  in  her 
singing.  She  had  been  so  flattered  and  commended 


200  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

in  the  drawing-rooms  where  she  had  sung,  that,  at 
first,  she  did  not  understand  how  her  singing  could 
be  found  fault  with.  She  thought  that,  at  least, 
was  free  from  blemish,  and  she  rebelled.  Her  eyes 
snapped  and  she  cried  out  a  medley  of  things  which 
people  had  told  her,  asserting  as  a  climax,  "and 
even  those  Eiverstons  said  I  sang  'Home,  Sweet 
Home  '  better  than  Jenny  Lind!  " 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Kreutsohn,  with  appar 
ent  gratification,  "I  am  glad  you  tell  that  to 
me!  That  makes  me  change  my  mind  a/togedder! 
Tibbie,  my  child,  you  have  sung  too  much  for  this 
time.  I  call  for  you  to-morrow  morning  and  we  go 
to  the  church  at  eight  o'clock.  It  is  with  my  fine, 
great  organ  you  must  have  a  lesson  in  music  to-mor 
row." 

Tibbie  thought  he  had  recovered  his  better  judg 
ment  and  was  delighted.  She  went  home  sniffing 
the  fine,  cool  air,  like  a  spirited  horse,  and  told  Ra 
chel  that  Professor  Kreutsohn  had  decided  the  piano 
was  too  small  an  instrument  for  the  accompaniment 
of  her  voice,  and  that  he  found  it  necessary  to  give 
her  lessons  in  the  church,  with  the  organ.  "He 
was  quite  right  about  it,"  she  said,  "for  his  parlor 
was  also  too  small;  her  voice  was  stifled  in  it." 
Rachel  wondered  what  "Uncle  Franz  "  was  up  to. 

"Wait  a  little!"  Mr.  Kreutsohn  said  comically, 
the  next  morning  at  the  Stan  woods',  while  Tibbie 
was  putting  on  her  things  upstairs.  "I  have  seen 
just  one  little  tevil ;  I  show  him  some  fireworks 
pretty  soon! " 

Tibbie   was   all    impatience.     Her    feet    almost 


TIBBIE  LEAENS  ABOUT  ORGAN  STOPS.     201 

danced  along  the  pavements.  When  they  reached 
the  church  she  threw  ~off  her  bonnet  and  wraps,  and 
was  not  quiet  until  the  sexton  was  ready  at  the  bel 
lows  and  the  musician  seated  at  the  organ. 

Mr.  Kreutsohn  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  as  she 
stood  there,  in  the  gallery,  her  restless  hands  on  the 
railing,  and  her  face  in  the  full  light  of  the  stained- 
glass  window.  Her  glittering  eyes  and  parted  lips 
looked  daring;  her  whole  face  was  kindled  with 
young  confidence.  ''What  shall  I  sing?  "  she  asked, 
as  if  her  power  were  infinite. 

"Poor  child!"  said  the  musician  to  himself. 
Aloud  he  said,  motioning  her  to  a  chair  beside  him, 
"Wait!  Sit  here  and  we  will  try  to  understand, 
each  the  other,  first.  Know  a  little  the  noble  in 
strument  which  is  going  to  help  you."  He  let  his 
fingers  wander  over  the  keys,  blending  harmonies 
for  a  few  moments.  Then,  as  he  caught  Tibbie's 
listening  ear,  he  stopped  and  said,  - 

"Tell  me  again  about  those  friends  who  told  you 
how  beautiful  you  sing;  'better  than  the  great  Miss 
Lind.'  What  is  the  name  you  give  me?" 

"Riverston,"  said  Tibbie. 

"Oh  yes,  Riverston,"  he  said,  as  if  he  was  glad 
to  remember  it.  "I  am  so  glad  to  know  about  those 
people,  because  I  am  sure  they  always  told  you  only 
the  truth.  They  must  have  told  you  a  great  many 
nice  things.  And  you  love  them  so,  that  you  believe 
all  those  nice  things  they  tell  you.  That  is  right, 
my  child.  You  must  believe  in  those  Riverston 
friends.  You  do  right  to  think  they  tell  only  the 
truth,  and  you  think  they  know  more  than  "  — 


202  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

Tibbie  flared.  The  name  of  Riverston  acted  as  a 
match  to  gunpowder  and  she  fired  mad  little  sen 
tences,  like  shot,  at  Mr.  Kreutsohn.  "No,  I  don't! 
They  are  not  my  friends !  They  promised  to  give 
me  a  master  to  teach  me !  They  broke  their  word, 
the  word  they  gave  me!  They  told  lies!  I  will 
never  believe  any  of  them  any  more!  " 

"Only  when  they  tell  you  that  you  sing  better 
than  the  greatest  singer  in  the  world?  You  will  be 
lieve  everybody  who  tells  that  to  you,  no  matter 
how  bad  they  are!  "  Mr.  Kreutsohn  exclaimed. 

Tibbie  hung  her  head. 

"And  if  those  people  think  that,  why  should 
they  get  a  master  for  you?"  he  continued  gently. 
"What  can  you  learn  if  you  know  already  every 
thing?  If  you  sing  only  one  little  song  best  in  all 
the  world,  then  you  know  more  than  a  master.  It 
is  I,  my  child,  will  ask  you  to  be  good  and  to  teach 
me,  for  much  I  want  to  learn." 

"Oh,  no,  no!  "  exclaimed  Tibbie,  her  mood  veer 
ing  into  one  of  passionate  humility.  "I  am  not 
good,  and  I  do  want  to  learn.  I  don't  believe  what 
anybody  tells  me,  only  you,  —  only  you!  " 

Tibbie's  emotional  temperament  made  it  possible 
for  her  to  work  up  a  panic  in  any  direction,  among 
the  virtues  as  well  as  among  the  vices  of  her  nature. 
The  patient,  wise  musician  played  upon  Tibbie's 
moods  as  skillfully  as  upon  his  instrument,  wrestled 
with  her  ignorance,  and  for  this  time  came  off  best. 
At  the  close  of  half  an  hour  he  was  explaining  the 
organ  stops  and  giving  her  a  lesson  in  self -control 
in  a  way  she  could  best  appreciate.  One  after  an- 


TIBBIE  LEARNS  ABOUT  ORGAN  STOPS. 

other,  he  pulled  out  the  stops  and  described  their 
uses  to  suit  his  purpose. 

"This  is  a  wavering,  trembling  one,"  he  said, 
pulling  out  the  tremolo.  "Hear  the  notes,  how 
they  shake  and  tear  your  nerves  in  little  pieces. 
You  could  let  this  stop  that  has  got  the  palsy  say  it 
for  you  when  you  feel  weak  and  cross.  Play  with 
that  stop  when  you  think  about  people  that  you 
can't  be  sure  of.  But  you  can't  stand  it  long,  and 
that  is  a  good  thing,  because  those  thoughts  are 
bad.  But  here  is  a  stop  that  is  more  kind.  It 
talks  to  you  with  a  child-voice,  like  the  little  Lisbeth 
with  the  pure  heart.  Listen  much  to  that  stop. 
And  to  this  other  one,  which  is  like  the  voice  of  some 
person  in  a  trouble ;  in  a  trouble  that  is  sad.  It 
calls  to  you  for  help  and  your  heart  tells  you  that 
you  must  give  it.  And  here  is  the  strong  child- 
voice,  like  the  little  brother  Dick  when  he  is  gay 
and  he  wants  you  to  feel  joy  too !  And  now,  —  lis 
ten  hard  as  you  can  now,  Tibbie,  my  child,  —  here 
is  the  great  stop,  the  open  diapason !  Hear  how  it 
is  strong,  —  like  a  noble  orchestra,  with  the  sound 
pure  and  grand!  That  is  like  the  voices  of  those 
friends  who  stand  by  you  with  great  hearts;  the 
friends  who  can't  speak  but  you  know  what  they 
say  is  truth,  and  the  word  they  give  you  is  like  a 
rock  which  can't  move." 

Mr.  Kreutsohn  was  improvising  wonderfully, 
while  he  worked  upon  the  girl's  feelings,  and  Tibbie 
heard  music  as  she  had  never  heard  it  before. 

As  the  hour  drew  to  a  close  Mr.  Kreutsohn  said, 
with  his  way  of  suddenly  beginning  upon  a  new 


204  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

point,  "  Come !  Before  we  go  away,  look  where  we 
are."  He  left  his  seat  to  stand  with  Tibbie  for  a 
moment  by  the  choir  railing.  "  See  the  roof,  how 
high  it  is !  The  shadows  are  almost  black  in  the 
corners.  Look  at  the  colors  in  the  glass  windows, 
how  they  shine  before  the  darkness,  like  rainbows. 
See  how  they  come  from  that  window  and  shine  on 
the  altar  and  where  the  people  kneel  to  lay  down 
their  troubles.  See  how  many  seats  in  every  place 
where  people  come  to  call  the  good  God  'Father! ' 
I  will  play  once  more  the  organ  now,  and  you  will 
sing  out  of  the  fullest  and  best  heart  what  you  have 
here,  my  child,"  touching  her  breast.  "I  will  call 
out  all  those  voices  to  help  you,  and  you  shall  sing 
the  best  you  have  to  offer  to  the  good  God." 

He  played  an  opening  prelude,  and  Tibbie,  with 
a  better  look  upon  her  face,  sang  with  her  whole 
soul,  "I  know  that  my  Eedeemer  liveth." 


CHAPTER   XI. 

TIBBIE   AND   HAVILAH. 

THE  course  pursued  by  Mr.  Suydan  in  his  effort 
to  recover  his  three  slaves  was,  in  the  estimation  of 
those  acquainted  with  it,  blundering  and  incompre 
hensible. 

After  discovering  the  presence  of  Havilah  in  Nel 
son  Hall,  instead  of  betraying  himself,  why  had  he 
not  kept  up  a  silent  watch  and  surprised  everybody 
by  having  her  arrested  as  she  left  the  building  ?  It 
would  seem  an  easy  matter.  Delphina  seemed  to 
be  right  when  she  declared  that  he  was  not  clever 
enough  to  manage  such  business.  It  was  very  cer 
tain  that  he  was  "bossing  his  own  job,"  and  his 
stupidity  and  hot  temper  combined  were  leading  him 
to  make  a  botch  of  it.  After  his  failure  at  the  fair, 
he  created  a  little  flurry  by  appearing  at  a  few 
places  with  a  constable  and  a  warrant  for  the  arrest 
of  Delphina,  the  least  valuable  of  the  three  slaves, 
but  he  stopped  entirely  his  search  for  Havilah  and 
her  child.  He  not  only  stopped  it,  but  was  dull  (or 
cunning)  enough  to  let  the  abolitionists  know  that 
he  had  done  so.  At  the  Norrises',  one  of  the  places 
where  he  went  in  search  of  Delphina,  he  announced 
that  he  was  "closing  up  business  in  New  York," 
and  that  his  intention  was  "to  go  to  Mississippi  and 


206  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

stay  there."  Napoleon,  a  light  mulatto  employed  in 
the  service  of  the  Anti-Slavery  Standard  office,  kept  a 
vigilant  watch  of  his  movements  and  announced, 
within  a  week  of  Christmas  time,  that  he  had 
bought  a  ticket  for  Wilmington,  Delaware,  and  had 
taken  a  train  at  the  Jersey  City  station.  Neverthe 
less,  it  was  assumed  that  he  might  return  at  any 
time,  or  that  others,  perhaps  more  competent  than 
he  was,  were  left  in  charge  of  his  business.  The 
greatest  caution,  therefore,  was  still  observed  by  the 
protectors  of  the  fugitives.  Delphina,  in  spite  of 
her  objections,  was  sent  to  live  with  a  Quaker  fam 
ily  on  a  farm  far  up  on  the  Hudson ;  Havilah  re 
mained  at  Friend  Holly's,  where  William  Hedges 
had  taken  her  for  refuge,  until  February.  By  that 
time,  as  there  were  still  no  indications  of  activity  on 
the  part  of  her  pursuer,  it  was  considered  safe  to 
allow  her  and  her  child  to  be  together  again,  and 
they  returned  to  the  Stan  woods',  where  a  new  crisis 
made  her  services  particularly  welcome. 

Aunt  Peggy  was  going  to  be  married !  Havilah 
was  summoned  to  assist  in  the  preparations  for  the 
wedding  and  was  to  serve  afterwards  as  Peggy's 
successor  in  the  kitchen.  Until  the  wonderful 
event,  Peggy  refused  to  give  up  her  dominion  to 
anybody  and  was  doing  double  duty.  She  declared 
that  "nobuddy,  white,  nor  black,  from  de  color  of 
de  bes'  New  Orleans  molasses  to  de  milk-white  skin 
of  little  Sis  Betty,  wan't  gwine  to  fin'  no  clear  in' 
nor  scrubbin'  to  do  after  her!  " 

Peggy  had  been  a  slave  all  her  life  until  within 
about  three  years.  Her  last  owner  had  been  a 


TIBBIE  AND  HAVILAH.  207 

widow  lady  of  moderate  wealth,  whose  name  was 
Pettimore,  and  who  lived  on  her  estate  in  North 
Carolina.  She  was  a  kind  mistress,  owned  only  a 
few  slaves  and  those  were  devoted  to  her.  During 
her  life  nothing  would  have  tempted  any  one  of 
them  to  leave  her,  and  they  served  her  with  the 
greatest  fidelity.  At  her  death  she  bequeathed  to 
each  of  them  a  piece  of  furniture,  a  plot  of  ground, 
and  Freedom  !  The  law  of  the  State  forbade  slaves 
to  own  property,  so  Mrs.  Pettimore 's  did  not  re 
ceive  their  furniture  or  land.  The  State  could  not 
deny  them  their  liberty,  but  it  could  make  the  pos 
session  of  it  a  martyrdom,  and  they  therefore  came 
North,  destitute,  but  free. 

There  was  not  a  murmur  of  regret  among  them 
because  they  were  denied  the  furniture  or  the  land. 
Peggy  obtained  something,  however,  which  she  val 
ued  far  more,  — a  lock  of  her  mistress's  hair.  She 
put  it  into  a  little  silk  bag  and  wore  it,  hung  around 
her  neck,  as  long  as  she  lived.  But  when  she  came 
away  from  North  Carolina  she  left,  living  on  a 
neighboring  plantation,  and  the  property  of  a  hard 
master,  Scipio  Franklin,  her  life-long  friend  and 
lover,  and  without  Scipio,  there  was  no  joy  in  lib 
erty  for  Peggy,  —  that  is,  until  the  opportunity 
came  when  she  could  work  for  Scipio's  freedom 
also.  When  she  found  herself  earning  wages  and 
storing  them  up  for  the  purchase  of  her  lover,  she 
enjoyed  her  first  taste  of  independence. 

Scipio's  master  was  a  dissipated  man  who  was  al 
ways  getting  into  money  difficulties.  He  allowed 
his  slaves  to  earn  money,  in  extra  hours,  for  the 


208  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

purchase  of  themselves,  but  his  deliverance  of  the 
goods  thus  bought  was  always  a  long  way  ahead,  if 
not  doubtful  altogether.  He  was  always  pinched 
for  money,  and  the  installments  brought  in  by  the 
purchasers  were  timely.  He  could  also  arrange  the 
bargains  to  suit  his  own  convenience ;  as  soon  as  the 
chattel  was  paid  for,  he  could  add  a  hundred  dollars 
or  so  to  the  price  of  it.  Scipio  had  been  buying 
himself  in  this  way  for  the  past  ten  years,  and  the 
goal  he  aimed  for  had  been  kept  just  a  little  ahead 
of  him.  After  Peggy  had  been  working  at  the 
Stanwoods'  for  a  year,  however,  a  successful  trap 
in  which  to  catch  and  bind  Scipio 's  master  to  his 
bargain  was  laid  by  Mr.  Stanwood.  Peggy's  sav 
ings  and  a  hundred  dollars  beside  were  forwarded 
to  Scipio  just  when  he  was  about  to  pay  the  last  of 
the  sum  required  of  him.  As  he  expected,  his  mas 
ter  refused  to  allow  him  to  conclude  the  purchase 
without  the  payment  of  another  hundred  dollars. 
Scipio  offered  him  a  hundred  and  fifty  on  the  spot, 
if  he  would  make  out  his  free  papers  then  and  there. 
The  Carolinian  was  in  need  of  ready  money,  and 
the  bargain  was  concluded. 

Scipio  came  North,  worked  out  that  extra  hundred 
dollars,  principal  and  interest,  with  the  rich  aboli 
tionist  who,  on  good  security,  had  loaned  it  to  Mr. 
Stanwood.  He  earned  enough  more  to  set  him 
self  up  as  a  peddler  of  coal  and  kindling  wood,  and 
was  at  last  going  to  be  married  to  Peggy,  in  the 
Stanwoods'  parlor,  and  to  take  her  to  a  home  of 
their  own  to  live.  Their  youth  was  gone,  middle 
age  was  come,  but  a  new  life  was  to  begin  for  them. 


TIBBIE  AND  HAVILAH.  209 

On  the  outskirts  of  Brooklyn,  in  a  place  called 
Gowanus,  a  little  wooden  shanty  and  plot  of  ground 
had  been  leased  for  them.  The  house  was  furnished 
with  contributions  from  a  few  families,  of  pieces  of 
furniture  or  gifts  in  one  form  or  another,  and  Peggy 
was  going  to  add  to  the  income  from  the  peddling 
business  by  taking  in  washing. 

So  the  new  crisis  at  the  Stanwoods'  was  a  cheer 
ful  one. 

Everybody  was  interested  in  Scipio  and  Peggy. 
But  for  the  restraint  which  Mrs.  Stanwood  and 
Eachel  put  upon  her,  Grace  Desborough  would  have 
supplied  a  whole  trousseau  for  the  bride.  She  felt 
abused  at  having  her  contributions  limited  to  the 
wedding  gown  and  a  few  ornaments  for  the  parlor 
of  the  little  cottage.  Another  wedding  gown  was 
offered  for  Peggy,  but  was  rejected.  Tibbie  Mac- 
Clare  pleaded  to  be  allowed  to  present  Peggy  with 
that  silk  gown  of  hers  which  she  had  worn  on  her 
first  appearance  at  the  Stanwoods',  and  which  was 
made  from  one  of  Mrs.  Riverston's.  Rachel  was  a 
good  deal  touched  by  Tibbie's  generosity,  praised 
her  for  it,  and  told  all  the  girls  about  it  with  great 
satisfaction. 

Rachel  knew  that  Tibbie  despised  the  dress  for 
her  own  use,  but  it  was  all  she  had  to  offer  and  her 
wish  to  give  it  was  a  sign  of  grace  which  ought  to  be 
appreciated. 

Tibbie  took  all  the  commendation  she  could  get, 
and  did  not  think  it  was  at  all  necessary  to  explain 
to  Miss  Stanwood  that  it  was  not  generosity  which 
prompted  her,  but  a  contempt  for  Mrs.  Riverston's 


210  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

cast-off  finery,    and    the   pleasure   she  —  Tibbie  - 
would  enjoy  in  seeing  it  on  "an  old  darkey."     The 
Riverston    impressions    of    the    colored    race   were 
taken    from    Christie's    Minstrels,   and    "darkey" 
was  a  familiar  appellation  to  Tibbie. 

Tibbie  intimated  confidentially  to  Havilah  that 
her  pleasure  would  be  complete  if  Mrs.  Riverston. 
and  her  daughter  could  be  invited  to  the  wedding 
and  see  Peggy  in  that  gown!  Tibbie  enjoyed  com 
municating  these  feelings  to  Havilah,  between  whom 
and  herself  there  was  no  love  lost. 

In  the  heat  of  her  bitterness  against  the  Riverston 
family  and  their  fashionable  friends,  and  the  relief 
of  finding  herself  in  another  atmosphere,  at  the 
Stanwoods',  Tibbie  for  a  little  while  sailed  along 
the  current  of  abolitionism  with  great  enjoyment. 
Aunt  Peggy  cosseted  her,  Havilah  altered  the 
clothes  which  were  given  to  her  so  that  they  fitted 
and  were  becoming,  and  Delphina  afforded  her 
inexhaustible  entertainment.  Even  little  Diana 
picked  up  her  spools  when  she  dropped  them,  and 
waited  upon  her  in  various  ways.  But,  as  the  weeks 
went  by  and  the  novelty  wore  away,  her  attitude 
toward  the  colored  people  began  to  change,  and,  as 
it  was  impossible  for  her  to  be  moderate  in  any 
thing,  she  very  soon  veered  around  to  the  opposite 
extreme.  She  grew  tired  of  seeing  the  constant 
watchfulness  and  solicitude  which  the  wrongs  of  the 
negroes  occasioned.  It  seemed  to  her  that  they 
were  protected  and  petted  just  because  of  their  color. 
She  was  the  only  white  servant  in  the  house,  and 
the  others  were  always  being  held  up  to  her  as  the 


TIBBIE  AND  HAVILAIL  211 

ones  to  be  favored.  Everything  done  for  them  went 
into  the  balance  and  counted  as  an  omission  in  the 
treatment  of  herself.  It  nettled  her  to  see  Miss 
Stanwood  and  Miss  Morton  sewing  for  dear  life  on 
Peggy's  wedding  gown,  and  everybody,  down  to 
Betty  and  Richard,  doing  something  for  "the  stupid 
old  woman."  It  irritated  her  especially  to  see  Betty 
sit  patiently  by  Havilah,  learning  how  to  make 
Peggy  an  apron,  spending  hours  at  the  long  seams 
and  hem  which  Tibbie  knew  would  ordinarily  be  irk 
some  to  the  child.  "And  she  'd  hate  them  now,  if 
the  person  she  's  working  for  wasn't  as  black  as  a 
coal!  "  Tibbie  said.  But  she  would  have  said  much 
more  about  it,  if  she  had  guessed  at  the  child's 
thoughts.  Betty  sat  on  her  little  outgrown  chair, 
got  stuck  between  its  arms,  and  lifted  it  with  her 
whenever  she  got  up  for  a  change ;  stitched  patiently 
and  dreamed  dreams  of  Peggy  in  a  bridal  veil,  and 
herself  as  bridesmaid,  with  a  wreath  of  flowers  on 
her  head  and  pink  satin  slippers  on  her  feet.  Rich 
ard  came  along,  now  and  then,  to  measure  the  prog 
ress  of  her  work  with  a  folding  ruler  which  he  kept 
in  his  pocket  for  the  purpose.  He  added  a  drop  of 
bitterness  to  Tibbie's  cup  by  confiding  to  her  that 
his  father  and  he  had  a  delightful  mystery  about 
something  which  they  were  going  to  take  over  to 
Aunt  Peggy's  after  the  wedding.  "She  and  Uncle 
Scipio  are  going  to  have  a  house-warming,  you 
know,  Tibbie,"  he  whispered,  "and  I  guess  you'll 
be  invited." 

Poor  Tibbie  had  little  cups  of  mild  bitterness  like 
this  offered  her  from  all  sides. 


212  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

Eachel,  under  the  delusion  that  Tibbie  desired  to 
be  of  service  to  Peggy,  took  her  over  to  Gowanus 
one  day  and  worked  her  pretty  hard  at  the  righting 
and  furbishing  of  the  little  shanty.  Tibbie  deserved 
considerable  credit  that  day  for  keeping  her  feelings 
to  herself.  She  had  to  carry  in  her  lap,  all  the  way 
from  Mr.  Stanwood's  to  Gowanus,  a  large  plaster 
bust  of  the  Venus  de  Medici,  done  up  in  one  of  the 
trundle-bed  sheets.  It  was  one  of  the  wedding  gifts 
from  Grace  Desborough,  and  Eachel  was  interested 
in  its  being  a  surprise  to  Peggy.  It  was  heavy  and 
awkward  to  carry,  and  Tibbie  would  have  liked  much 
to  see  it  roll  over  the  ferry-boat  railing  and  make  a 
splash  in  the  water.  But  she  carried  it  safely,  did 
Rachel's  bidding  at  the  cottage,  and  kept  her  feel 
ings  bottled  up  until  she  got  home.  She  gave  vent 
to  them,  for  the  benefit  of  Havilah  and  Peggy,  in 
the  evening,  when  they  all  sat  at  work  around  the 
table,  in  the  front  basement. 

Tibbie's  little  pointed  nose  was  high  in  air,  and 
her  head  tossed  loftily,  while  she  remarked  upon  the 
shanty  as  being  all  that  was  required  for  the  couple 
who  were  to  occupy  it.  But  of  course,  "  when  she 
was  married,  a  very  different  place  would  be  pro 
vided  for  her.  She  would  be  a  great  lady  then, 
with  plenty  of  silk  dresses  of  her  own,  and  laces, 
and  feathers,  and  the  like.  There  was  a  great  deal 
of  this  talk  to  which  Havilah  and  Peggy  appeared 
indifferent  for  a  time.  Peggy  tried  once  to  make 
a  diversion  by  asking  Tibbie  if  she  would  not  like 
Havilah  to  read  something  aloud,  but  she  struck  the 
wrong  note. 


TIBBIE  AND  HAVILAH.  213 

"No,  I  wouldn't,"  Tibbie  answered  with  deci 
sion.  "Let  those  it  suits  hear  your  tiresome  Deu 
teronomy  chapter, — it  has  nae  fitness  for  me." 
Then  she  added,  with  a  chuckle,  "I'd  have  liked 
well,  though,  if  the  curses  in  it  had  lighted  on  that 
white  woman's  head  I  carried  in  my  arms  this  day! 
When  you  go  to  your  hame,  Peggy,  look  up  at  her 
on  the  shelf,  and  just  think  she  'd  speak  them  all, 
if  I  had  my  wish,  for  the  dead  weight  she  was  on 
my  hands." 

To  do  her  justice,  Tibbie  wanted  the  curses  for 
Venus,  not  for  Peggy.  She  returned  to  her  visions 
of  future  glory  for  herself.  "She  'd  have  no  such 
things  as  that  in  her  house;  she  would  have  " — etc., 
etc. 

Peggy  succeeded  this  time  in  making  a  diversion 
by  asking  where  the  house  was  to  be,  and  who  was 
to  give  it  her. 

"Oh,"  said  Tibbie  gayly,  "It'll  be  where  I  like 
to  have  it,  and  I  '11  have  my  choice  amang  a  great 
many  who  '11  be  glad  enough  to  give  it  to  me.  Miss 
Jenny  Lind  is  not  the  only  one  who  can  have  crowds 
running  to  follow  her,  to  heap  their  favors  upon  her, 
and  to  feel  as  if  a  smile  or  a  word  from  her  was 
equal  to  a  golden  crown !  No,  indeed !  Wait  only 
a  little  while !  It  '11  be  shortly  now  before  I  '11  be 
singing  on  the  stage  myself,  and  I  '11  not  be  doing 
it  long  before  I  '11  be  a  fine  lady,  you  '11  see.  And 
I  '11  have  my  fine  house  and  a  great  many  servants 
then.  And  perhaps  I  '11  have  you  for  one  of  them, 
Havilah.  I  will  pay  you  better  wages  than  you  get 
here,  and  you  shall  dress  my  hair  for  concerts  and 


214  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

the  opera.  And  I  '11  not  mind  having  the  child 
along;  I  could  soon  train  Diana  to  " 

"And  that  will  never  be!"  cried  Havilah,  snap 
ping  her  thread  and  flashing  a  quick,  angry  glance 
at  Tibbie  across  the  table.  "I  would  rather  see 
Diana  beg  in  the  streets  than  in  your  power,  and 
for  myself,  I  would  return  to  slavery  before  I  would 
serve  under  you !  The  time  "  — 

Tibbie's  laughter  drowned  the  rest  of  what  Hav 
ilah  said,  and  when  it  stopped,  Peggy  was  looking 
over  her  heavy  spectacles  and  saying  mildly,  "Tsh! 
tsh!  dah  ain't  no  kin'  o'  hawm  in  'lowin'  de  chile 
to  conjeh!  Let  her  do  it,  Hab'lah,  an'  when  Scip 
an'  me  gets  to  wuk,  we  '11  sabe  up  all  de  money  we 
ken  in  one  o'  Scip's  ole  stockin's,  an'  den,  mebby 
some  night,  Hab'lah,  we  ken  take  you  an'  Di  to  de 
opera! " 

From  this  time  forward  the  antagonism  between 
Tibbie  and  Havilah  increased.  Tibbie  dwelt  more 
and  more  upon  her  glorious  future,  when  she  was 
to  eclipse  Jenny  Lind,  and  to  have  everybody  at  her 
feet.  The  more  she  dwelt  upon  these  prospects 
the  more  she  believed  in  them,  and  as  she  pictured 
herself  higher  and  grander  in  station,  Havilah 's 
condition  in  life  seemed  to  her  lower  and  more  de 
graded. 

"You  were  born  in  slavery  and  you  belong  there," 
she  would  say.  "You  got  away  from  it  only  be 
cause  you  cheated  your  master.  Some  day  you  '11 
get  back  to  him,  —  you  and  your  child,  —  because 
that  is  your  rightful  place.  /  was  born  to  be  a 
great  singer,  and  I  belong  on  the  stage,  where  I  can 


TIBBIE  AND  HAVILAH.  215 

stand  and  look  at  the  crowds  of  people  who  come  to 
bow  down  to  me." 

This  was  Tibbie's  faith,  planted  long  ago  in  her 
heart,  and  flowering  now  in  her  resentment  at  be 
ing,  as  she  thought,  set  aside,  to  make  way  for  all 
these  people  of  a  lower  order.  Mr.  Stanwood  would 
have  said  that  Tibbie's  "familiars  "  pressed  her  hard 
these  days.  Had  her  benefactors  suspected  what 
was  brewing  in  her  mind,  their  genius  might  have 
devised  some  means  of  help  for  her;  had  the  pa 
tience  of  Havilah  been  drilled  in  a  school  any  less 
hard  than  slavery,  it  might  have  given  way  and  be 
trayed  the  evil  that  was  growing.  But  Havilah  and 
Pe^oy  could  endure  to  the  end  rather  than  allow 

OO*/ 

the  storm  to  reach  those  to  whom  they  were  bound 
by  every  tie  of  gratitude. 

One  day,  however,  when  Tibbie  and  Havilah  were 
sewing  in  a  room  together,  an  incident  occurred 
which  altered  the  situation  considerably.  Diana 
turned  upon  Tibbie  and  refused  to  obey  one  of  her 
peremptory  orders.  Tibbie  made  a  sudden  dash  at 
her  and  struck  her  a  heavy  blow.  Instantly  Havi 
lah 's  hand  was  upon  Tibbie's  arm  with  a  grasp  of 
iron.  Havilah' s  face  was  livid  with  rage,  and  her 
black  eyes  flamed.  Her  figure  erect,  one  arm 
raised,  she  looked,  in  her  fury,  like  an  Amazon 
ready  to  fell  an  enemy.  For  once  in  her  life  Tibbie 
was  frightened.  She  gave  a  suppressed  cry  of  gen 
uine  alarm  and  cowered  in  terror  lest  Havilah' s  arm 
was  going  to  fall. 

Havilah  flung  her  away  with  the  strength  of  de 
lirium.  Tibbie  reeled,  and,  catching  at  a  chair  for 


216  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

support,  turned  to  see  what  Havilah  was  going  to  do 
next.  Havilah  stood  motionless,  looking  full  into 
the  Scotch  girl's  face.  She  waited  for  a  feAv  quick 
breaths,  and  then  said  in  an  unnatural,  hard  voice, 
"You  will  never  do  that  again."  She  paused. 
Tibbie  whispered  "No!"  In  a  moment  Havilah 
said,  in  the  same  voice,  "I  have  brought  that  child 
away  from  blows;  I  have  brought  her  away  from 
slavery.  I  risked  my  life  — •  and  hers  —  to  do  it. 
She  shall  not  see  what  I  have  seen.  You  had  better 
go  to  the  South,  if  you  want  to  do  such  things. 
You  cannot  do  them  here." 

She  said  no  more,  but  there  was  something  behind 
her  silence  which  was  more  fearful  than  any  words 
she  could  have  spoken. 

After  that  Tibbie  was  afraid  of  Havilah  and  her 
dislike  was  greater  in  consequence.  But  her  fear 
caused  an  interim  in  her  teasing,  irritating  ways, 
and  things  went  more  smoothly. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

DEUTERONOMY    XXVIII. 

THERE  were  two  hitches  in  Peggy's  preparations 
for  her  wedding.  The  first  was  a  stop  in  her  mind 
on  the  subject  of  Grace  Desborough.  To  Peggy 
Grace  represented  all  the  aristocracy  worthy  of  rep 
resentation  in  the  city  of  New  York.  In  the  glow 
of  her  bountiful  gifts,  Peggy  had  invited  her  to  both 
the  wedding  and  the  house-warming  afterwards,  and 
now,  as  the  occasions  were  almost  at  hand,  Grace's 
acceptance  of  the  invitations  overwhelmed  her  with 
trepidation. 

"Hadn't  orter  done  it,  no  kind  o'  way  in  dis  yer 
world,"  she  said  to  Rachel,  on  the  morning  before 
the  wedding.  "I 's  done  skeered  outen  my  min'  so 
dat  I 's  sp'iled  de  batch  o'  cake  on'y  jes'  dis  minnit, 
puttin'  in  de  sody  twiste.  Can't  it  be  tuk  back, 
Miss  Raychel,  in  some  kind  o'  way  dat 's  hand 
some?  Ef  't  ain't,  eberyting '11  go  wrong  an'  dey 
ain't  no  tellin'  what  '11  get  into  de  vittles." 

Rachel  soothed  Peggy's  feelings  and  pleaded  for 
Grace's  invitations  to  stand.  Peggy  yielded  first 
as  regarded  the  wedding.  "She  can  come  to  dat," 
she  said,  "  'cose  dey  won't  be  no  cookin'  to  spile, 
an'  dey  ain't  nuffin'  but  de  sarramony  an'  de  chap 
ter.  I  ain't  got  dem  fixed  up  jes'  right  yet,  but 


218  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

de  minister  's  comin'  to-night  an'  den  it  '11  be  sat- 
tled." 

But  it  was  more  difficult  to  reconcile  Peggy  to 
leaving  her  invitation  to  the  house-warming  undis 
turbed. 

"I  want  Miss  Desborough  to  see  how  nice  her 
china  looks  in  the  cupboard,  Aunt  Peggy,  and  the 
armchairs  she  sent  for  Uncle  Scipio  and  thee,  and 
there  is  another  beautiful  thing  on  the  high  shelf  in 
the  corner;  when  thee  sees  that"  — 

Peggy  knew  she  meant  Venus,  and  after  Tibbie's 
description  of  the  "white  woman's  head,"  she  had 
no  desire  to  see  it  at  all.  But  she  had  no  notion  of 
disappointing  either  Rachel  or  Grace  by  owning  up 
to  her  prejudices.  So  she  skipped  at  once  to  the 
subject  of  the  house-warming  and  said,  "I  feel  jes' 
as  if  de  bes'  angel  dat  de  Lawd's  got,  'mongst  de 
hull  crowd,  was  comin'  to  dinner  dat  day,  an'  de 
Lawd  hisself  knows  I  can't  cook  nuffin'  to  suit  dat 
kin'  o'  cump'ny!" 

"Now,  Aunt  Peggy!"  said  Rachel.  "As  if  I 
didn't  know  what  kind  of  a  dinner  thee  can  get  up! 
If  thee  only  wouldn't  take  so  much  trouble  and 
could  bring  thy  mind  to  having  a  simple  one,  no 
thing  would  please  Miss  Desborough  more." 

"She  hadn't  ought  to  be  dar,  Miss  Raychel," 
Peggy  insisted.  "Yo'  jes'  t'ink  'bout  Scip! 
What  '11  he  do  ?  How  ebber  is  he  gwine  to  know 
how  to  ask  Miss  Desbrum  ef  she  's  hade  'nough,  or 
ef  she  wants  anudder  slice  aff  de  j'int?  He  can't 
do  it!  De  pore  ole  man  '11  jes'  set  an'  sweat.  Oh, 
Lawd  A'mighty,  Miss  Raychel,  it's  a  heap  o'  wuk 


DEUTERONOMY  XXVIII.  219 

gettin'  mahriecl!  I 's  powerful  glad  we  ain't  got  it 
to  do  on'y  dis  once.  An'  dat  's  a  mighty  comforta 
ble  thing  what  de  Bible  says  —  how  dey  don't  do  it 
inheab'n!" 

But  Peggy  gave  way,  because  of  the  difficulty  of 
recalling  her  invitation  in  a  handsome  enough  mes 
sage. 

The  other  hitch  in  the  proceedings  was  in  the  ar 
rangement  of  the  marriage  ceremony.  Peggy  had 
certain  views  in  regard  to  it  which  did  not  har 
monize  with  those  of  the  Rev.  Alonzo  Peters,  the 
minister  who  was  to  officiate.  Peggy  wanted  her 
beloved  chapter  from  Deuteronomy  read  at  her  wed 
ding,  and  the  Rev.  Alonzo  Peters  objected.  The 
more  he  argued,  the  more  set  was  Peggy.  Scipio 
was  referred  to,  and  the  whole  question  was  discussed 
at  length  by  the  three  in  the  kitchen,  on  the  evening 
before  the  wedding.  Scipio  was  a  patient  man,  and 
listened  for  some  time  to  all  that  Mr.  Peters  had  to 
say  without  replying.  He  looked  occasionally  at 
Peggy,  who  sat  like  a  graven  image  and  smiled  back 
at  him,  placidly  immovable.  Once  Scipio 's  face 
lighted  up  as  he  thought  of  something  which  he  was 
sure  would  satisfy  both  parties,  and  he  suggested 
that  Mr.  Stanwood  should  read  the  chapter,  before 
the  company  arrived,  to  Peggy  and  himself.  Peggy 
looked  at  him  reproachfully  and  said  that,  accord 
ing  to  the  "strick  law"  of  the  church,  it  must  be 
read  by  a  minister  of  the  gospel.  Mr.  Peters 
offered  to  read  it  himself,  at  the  time  Scipio  had 
suggested,  but  Peggy  would  have  it  form  a  part  of 
the  ceremony,  for  the  benefit  of  everybody  present. 


220  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

So  Scipio  smiled  at  the  Eev.  Mr.  Peters,  and 
asked  him  if  he  wouldn't  please  be  so  kind  as  to 
make  it  conform  with  his  conscience  to  satisfy  the 
bride. 

But  Mr.  Peters  was  not  at  all  sure  that  the  Lord 
would  be  satisfied  by  the  insertion  of  the  twenty- 
eighth  chapter  of  Deuteronomy  into  the  marriage 
service. 

"It  was  Moses  who  preached  that  sermon,"  he 
argued,  "and  what,  in  the  whole  world  of  reason 
and  ecclesiastics,  has  Moses  got  to  do  with  the  mar 
riage  service?  I  haven't  anything  prejudicial  to 
sav  against  the  sermon;  it's  all  right,  in  its  place. 
But  it  was  preached  to  the  people  of  Israel  because 
it  was  just  what  those  people  needed  at  that  particu 
lar  time;  and  it  hasn't  got  anything  at  all  to  do 
with  this  present  generation,  especially  on  those 
occasions  when  people  are  going  to  be  united  in  the 
bonds  of  holy  matrimony.  It  don't  belong  there, 
and  it  ain't  ecclesiastical  to  put  it  there." 

Mr.  Peters  might  as  well  have  talked  to  a  gate 
post  as  to  Peggy. 

"Ef  't  ain't  'clesiastic,  't  ain't  de  fault  ob  de 
Lawd,"  she  answered.  "He  commanded  Moses  to 
say  ebry  word  ob  dat  chapter,  an'  He  meant  it  fur 
to  be  handed  down  fum  generation  to  generation. 
Moses  did  his  duty,  an'  ef  de  ministers  ob  dis  day 
don't  do  dere  duty,  t'  ain't  no  fault  ob  hisn." 

"Dat 's  all  berry  true,  Peggy,  an'  yo'  knows  I  'm 
willin'  to  'gree  to  it,"  said  Scipio,  getting  his  hand 
kerchief  out  of  his  coat-tail  pocket.  He  was  getting 
into  a  perspiration,  in  his  effort  to  make  the  two 


DEUTERONOMY  XXVIII.  221 

agree.  "Yo'  knows,  Peggy,  dat  I  'cepted  dat  ar 
chapteh  long  time  ago,  when  yore  ole  missus  was 
'live,  an'  yo'  used  to  get  her  to  read  it  'loud  to  us 
Sunday  arternoons,  when  I  used  to  get  away  fum  de 
quarters  an'  go  courtin'  yo'.  Yo'  knows  dat  I  went 
so  fur  dat  I  tuk  it  all  back  —  dat  time  when  I  hade 
anudder  subjeck  what  I  wanted  'spressly  to  talk 
'bout,  an'  I  made  de  s'gestion  dat  some  ob  dose 
cussiiT  passages  mought  be  omitted.  I  tuk  it  all 
ba-a-ck,  cose  yo'  convinced  me  in  dat  argyment  dat 
de  words  ob  de  Lawd  " —  Scipio  raised  his  voice 
when  he  said  " ba-a-ck,"  and  still  more  at  "Lawd," 
to  ward  off  an  interruption  from  Peggy,  who  sat 
very  upright,  with  her  hands  folded  over  her  apron- 
belt,  and  her  eyes  fixed  on  him.  He  went  on, 
"Cose  it  was  de  Lawd  speakin'  froo  de  mouf  ob 
Moses,  — yo'  convinced  me  dat  de  wuds  ob  de  Lawd 
could  n't  nebba  be  cut  off,  nor  lef '  out,  'thout  blas- 
phemin'  ob  jes'  de  berry  wust  kind.  So,"  lowering 
his  tone  again  as  Peggy  nodded  approval,  "yo' 
knows  dat  I  'cepted  dat  twenty-eighth  chapter  ob 
Duty-roun'me,  clean  down  to  de  groun'." 

Peggy  nodded  blandly  to  Mr.  Peters,  in  appre 
ciation  of  Scipio 's  condition  of  grace. 

Scipio  was  well  satisfied  with  his  preamble,  but 
he  had  his  doubts  as  to  Peggy's  acceptance  of  the 
subject  proper  of  what  he  had  to  say.  He  knew  he 
was  going  to  be  interrupted  now,  so  he  hurried  over 
the  rest,  speaking  faster  and  louder  as  he  went 
along.  "But  eben  takin'  all  dat  into  de  account, 
does  you  b'lieve  ser'ous  dat  de  Lawd  'd  keer  berry 
much  ef  we  was  married  'thout  dat  chapter,  seem' 


222  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

dat  we  is  'quainted  puffickly  wid  it,  an'  dat  dey 
ain't  no  udder  weddin's  in  de  known  land  dat  has 
ebber  brung  it  into  use,  fum  de  time  ob  Moses 
to  de  time  ob  Mr.  'Lonzo  Peters  at  de  present 
day?" 

It  took  great  skill,  but  Scipio  got  this  all  said  be 
fore  Peggy  struck  in. 

uYes,  I  do!  Yes,  I  do!"  she  cried,  with  great 
earnestness,  "an  it's  fur  dat  berry  cose  dat  we 
oughter  hoi'  ourselves  strick."  She  and  Scipio 
were  talking  a  duet,  for  he  was  calling  out,  "I  ain't 
makin'  no  contrairy  objections, — I 's  askin'  yore 
'pinion,  Peggy,  nuffin'  mo'." 

"De  Lawd,  He  mean  dat  chapteh  fur  de  Letter 
ob  de  Law,"  Peggy  was  saying,  when  Scipio  lis 
tened  again. 

Peggy's  eyes  were  filmy  as  she  went  on  in  her 
gentle  voice,  — 

"Don't  we  see,  plainer  dan  de  sunlight  ob 
heab'm,  dat  de  ten  comman'ments  ain't  nowhars 
'long  side  ob  it?  Dey  counts  on'y  ten,  an'  de 
twenty-eighth  chapter  of  Dutyronomy  counts  sixty- 
eight!  An'  dere  dey  is,  all  de  blessin's  an'  de 
cussin's  fur  eberyting  yo'  do,  right  an'  wrong,  an' 
yo'  can't  help  knowin'  what  yo  '11  git,  eider  way. 
Scip,"  she  turned  to  him  and  said  solemnly,  "Yo' 
an'  me  is  gwine  to  start  out  togedder  in  a  new  kin' 
o'  life,  in  de  on'y  home  we  's  ebber  had,  an'  ef  we 
want  to  be  spared  dose  cussin's  fallin'  down  on  de 
roof  ober  our  heads,  we  'd  better  hoi'  on  tight  to 
de  twenty-eighth  chapter  ob  Dutyronomy!  " 

"Don'    say   no    mo'!     Don'    say   anoder    word, 


DEUTEltONOMY  XX VIII.  223 

Peggy,"  said  Scipio,  with  his  mind  fully  made  up. 
Then,  turning  to  Mr.  Peters,  he  said,  "When  dey 
is  a  conscious  principle  in  de  question,  it  ain't  right 
to  bear  down  on  dat  pusson  wid  argyments  what  is 
likely  to  —  or  which  might  be  'terpreted  as  such, 
or  to  'pear  to  uphol'  any  doctrine,  or  to  —  what- 
somedever!  " 

"No!"  said  Peggy,  "an'  yo' s  hit  it  right  dah, 
Scip." 

Scipio  was  glad  he  had,  and  wiped  the  perspira 
tion  from  his  neck,  where  it  threatened  to  injure  the 
starch  in  his  shirt  collar. 

So  the  wedding  took  place  at  the  appointed  time, 
and  the  ceremony  was  gotten  through  with  satisfac 
torily. 

The  Rev.  Alonzo  Peters,  whose  objections  to  the 
selection  from  the  Scriptures  still  remained,  had 
several  opportunities  to  skip  passages  in  the  long 
chapter,  owing  to  the  fact  that  the  bride's  mind  was 
occupied  with  fitting  sins  and  sinners  together,  as 
her  eyes  fell  upon  one  and  another  of  the  people 
present.  Mentally  she  bestowed  all  the  blessings, 
collectively,  upon  the  family  of  Stan  wood,  Grace 
Desborough,  and  William  Hedges. 

"When  de  time  comes  fur  dem  to  pass  froo  de 
Gates,  dey  '11  be  chairs  wid  golden  letters  on  de 
back  all  ready  for  'em.  Dey  '11  be  swallered  up  in 
glory,  clean  to  de  mouves,  and  den  dey  won't  hab 
no  chance  to  pass  it  roun'  an'  gib  it  all  to  somebody 
else,  — dey  '11  hab  to  drink  it!  "  she  thought.  But 
her  attention  was  diverted  as  soon  as  the  blessings 
ended  and  Mr.  Peters  began  the  warning  words  of 


224  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

the  fifteenth  verse:  "But  it  shall  come  to  pass,  if 
thou  wilt  not  hearken  unto  the  voice  "  — 

"Yo'  jes'  wait,  Sairy  Emmyline  Sampson," 
thought  Peggy,  with  her  eyes  upon  a  chipper  young 
woman  in  a  gay  bonnet,  "till  he  comes  to  cle  'yoke 
ob  iron'  ready  for  yore  neck !  Dat  's  gwine  to  fall 
onto  yo',  sho',  ef  yo'  keeps  on  spendin'  all  yore  hus 
band's  hard  yearnin's  on  yo'  clo'es." 

Mr.  Peters  was  unfortunate  just  here,  and  tried 
skipping  from  "all  these  curses  shall  come  upon 
thee,  and  overtake  thee,"  to  "Cursed  shalt  thou  be 
when  thou  comest  in,"  but  the  bride's  eyes  lighted 
upon  him  and  she  said  solemnly,  correcting  him: 
"In  de  city'1''  —  and  sent  him  back  four  verses. 
But  her  mind  wandered  again,  in  a  moment  or  two. 
"You  's  dar,  in  de  co'ner  by  de  do'  whar  yo'  thinks 
de  'freshments  '11  come  in  bime  by,  Marse  Frederick 
J.  Matterson,"  she  thought,  eying  an  old,  white- 
haired  negro.  "Yo'  better  listen  in  a  minnit  or 
two,  'bout  how  de  Lawd  's  gwine  to  gib  yore  sheep 
to  yore  enemies!  Guess  yo'  better  stop  grabbin'  all 
yo'  can  get,  an'  put  sump'm  in  de  collection  plate 
next  time!"  Then  came  thoughts  of  one  and  an 
other  person,  upon  whose  ears  the  sacred  warnings 
were  falling,  and  she  left  Mr.  Peters  to  read  ad 
libitum  until  he  tried  to  make  a  bold  skip,  from 
the  fifty-ninth  to  the  sixty-seventh  verse.  Peggy 
repeated  pointedly,  "  Den  de  Lawd  '11  make  yore 
plagues  won'erful,"  and  the  minister  went  back  im 
mediately  and  finished  the  chapter  without  further 
break. 

When  the  ceremony  was  over  Scipio  had  to  resort 


DEUTERONOMY  XXVIIL  225 

to  his  bandanna,  to  save  his  shirt  collar  from  col 
lapse. 

Grace  Desborough  was  the  only  person  present 
who  did  not  understand  the  ways  of  colored  people 
well  enough  not  to  be  disturbed  by  the  reading. 
With  her  heart  full  of  the  wrong  of  oppression,  she 
thought  of  the  colored  race  as  sufferers  and  martyrs, 
and  the  grotesque  element  in  the  present  occasion 
jarred  upon  her.  She  wanted  the  little  wedding  to 
be  impressive,  and  was  more  hurt  than  amused 
when  Peggy  interrupted  the  minister.  She  won 
dered  at  Will  Hedges,  when  he  conducted  her  to  the 
newly  married  pair  to  offer  congratulations,  because 
he  did  not  seem  disturbed.  He  only  said,  "Do  you 
feel  as  I  do,  Miss  Desborough,  —  as  if  a  special 
mantle  of  righteousness  had  fallen  upon  you?" 

"It  is  all  so  new  to  me,"  she  said  seriously.  "I 
cannot  understand." 

uOh,  you  will  in  time,"  Will  said  gayly,  "there 
isn't  much  that  is  mysterious.  Wait  until  you 
know  Aunt  Peggy  better.  Come  with  me  now,  and 
get  her  blessing;  it  is  worth  having." 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

THE   ARISTOCRACY   AT   AUNT   PEGGY 'S. 

HORACE  and  Grace  Desborough  gratified  their 
parents,  for  a  time,  by  accepting  invitations  whole 
sale.  They  went  to  the  Graythorn  ball,  and  were 
light-hearted  there.  Mrs.  Desborough  was  pleased 
to  discover  that  the  flowers  which  Miss  Graythorn 
carried  all  the  evening  were  those  which  Horace 
had  sent  to  her,  but  she  was  disappointed  not  to  see 
him  more  devoted. 

After  opening  the  ball  with  her,  he  danced  only 
once  with  Miss  Graythorn,  while  he  was  continually 
running  after  Grace. 

"As  if  young  men  went  to  balls  to  dance  with 
their  sisters !  "  Mrs.  Desborough  said  to  her  hus 
band,  in  the  retirement  of  a  bay-window.  "Can't 
you" 

"Oh  no,  don't!  Let  them  alone,  my  dear," 
said  Mr.  Desborough,  who  was  tired  and  bored. 
"  Some  of  the  other  fellows  will  be  after  Grace  soon 
enough ;  she  is  the  best-looking  girl  in  the  room,  by 
a  long  shot." 

"I  don't  know  what  is  the  matter  with  some  of 
the  fellows,"  said  Mrs.  Desborough.  "There  is 
Burton  Riverston  not  dancing  at  all,  and  looking  as 
glum  as  if  he  was  at  a  funeral."  She  wanted  him 


THE  AEISTOCRACY  AT  AUNT  PEGGY'S.     227 

to  be  attentive  to  Grace,  but  he  had  scarcely  spoken 
to  her.  And  both  Lindsey  and  Frank  Gray  thorn 
were  uas  dull  as  owls,"  she  thought,  "with  their 
elaborate  courtesy  to  everybody  and  no  marked 
attentions  to  any  of  the  girls."  She  said  "any" 
to  herself,  but  she  meant  Grace.  Mrs.  Desborough 
was  not  very  happy  at  the  Graythorn  ball ;  none  of 
the  young  people  did  what  she  wanted  them  to. 
There  were  plenty  of  opportunities  for  Horace  to 
offer  attentions  to  Miss  Graythorn,  but  he  did  not 
avail  himself  of  them.  His  mother  was  so  annoyed 
by  his  allowing  them  all  to  be  seized  by  other  young 
men,  that  she  found  it  difficult  to  follow  what  Mrs. 
Eiverston  was  telling  her  about  their  plan  of  going 
abroad  next  summer,  and  she  scarcely  answered  with 
sufficient  cordiality  that  lady's  suggestion  that  she 
and  Grace  should  join  them. 

Her  mind  always  traveled  fast,  when  it  once  got 
started.  The  only  response  she  drew  from  her  hus 
band,  when  they  reached  home,  was  a  criticism  upon 
her  over-anxiety,  and  his  opinion  that  Horace  and 
his  sister  were  doing  well  enough  and  had  better  be 
left  alone. 

Certainly  the  brother  and  sister  were  never  more 
in  sympathy  with  each  other  or  more  manageable 
than  they  were  during  these  days.  They  went 
everywhere  and  seemed  bent  upon  conforming  to 
their  mother's  wishes  in  social  matters.  If  this 
was  the  result  of  giving  way  to  Grace  in  her  anti- 
slavery  whims,  both  parents  agreed  that  it  was  most 
gratifying. 

There  was  another  result  which  was  less  satisfac- 


228  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

tory.  Grace's  friendship  with  the  Stan  woods  was 
not  only  more  closely  cemented,  but  Horace  was 
drawn  into  it.  He  had  stopped  objecting  to  the 
growing  intimacy,  and  instead  of  resisting  Grace, 
he  followed  her.  He  seemed  to  enjoy  going  with 
her  to  make  an  evening  call  at  the  Stanwoods,  or 
calling  for  her  when  she  went  there  to  tea  occasion 
ally,  and  waiting  upon  her  home. 

He  was  himself  getting  intimate  with  William 
Hedges,  took  long  walks  with  him,  and  had  him 
often  up  in  his  room,  where  they  seemed  to  have 
discussions  which  interested  them  both  immensely. 
Horace  did  not  like  to  be  reminded  now  how  he 
had  once  made  fun  of  Will,  when  he  had  called  him 
"wildly  popular." 

Mrs.  Desborough  called  him  "a  ranting  abolition 
ist,"  and  marveled  at  his  attraction  for  her  son. 
But  face  to  face  with  him,  when  he  stopped  in  the 
parlor  before  or  after  his  visits  upstairs  with  Hor 
ace,  Mrs.  Desborough  thawed  in  spite  of  herself. 
Will  carried  a  passport  of  his  own  wherever  he 
went. 

Then,  as  another  result  of  all  that  fair  business, 
an  interchange  of  calls  had  started  up  between 
Grace  and  the  Norrises,  Mortons,  Quimbys,  and 
Bixbys.  Mrs.  Desborough  did  not  like  all  this. 

"They  seem  like  nice  young  people,  my  dear," 
said  her  husband.  "I  must  confess  that  the  only 
effect  I  have  observed  upon  Gracie  is  the  remarka 
ble  way  in  which  she  has  waked  up,  since  we  allowed 
her  full  swing  at  that  fair.  If  it  is  these  new  ac 
quaintances  who  have  roused  her  interest  in  things, 


THE  ARISTOCRACY  AT  AUNT  PEGGY'S.     229 

I  should  recommend  leaving  them  to  go  on.  What 
harm  do  you  think  they  do?" 

"I  don't  know  that  they  do  any,"  said  Mrs.  Des- 
borough.  "But  that  isn't  the  point.  The  point 
is,  Eobert,  who  are  they?  That  is  what  I  can't 
find  out.  Mrs.  River ston  asked  me  the  other  day 
where  the  Stan  woods  came  from,  and  I  was  actually 
mortified  because  I  could  not  tell  her !  She  is  wor 
ried  to  death  over  Burton,  because  he  is  wild  about 
Miss  Stan  wood.  His  mother  came  to  me,  because 
somebody  had  told  her  that  Miss  Stanwood  was 
Grace's  most  intimate  friend,  and  she  thought  / 
would  be  sure  to  know  who  they  are.  But  I  doii't 
know,  Robert!  There  it  is,"  patting  the  table  with 
her  palm  for  emphasis,  " I  don't  know  !  " 

Mrs.  Desborough  set  her  thin  lips  together,  as  she 
finished,  and  lifted  her  chin  to  her  husband  with  the 
hitch  which  seemed  to  imply  that,  with  this  state 
ment,  they  came  to  a  dead  stop. 

"Well,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Desborough,  going 
to  the  mantelpiece  to  light  a  cigar,  "you  can  say 
they  are  Quakers.  I  find  that  answers  for  a  good 
deal.  That  sect,  somehow,  carries  its  credentials 
in  its  name.  And,  as  I  said  before,  I  don't  know 
that  they  are  doing  us  any  harm." 

"Because  you  don't  understand,  Robert,"  said 
his  wife,  moving  to  a  chair  by  the  open  fire,  to 
warm  her  feet.  "Men  never  see  harm  of  this  kind 
until  it  is  too  late  to  prevent  it,  and  then  they  come 
to  us  women  to  cure  it.  I  'm  not  complaining  be 
cause  you  don't;  you  can't  be  expected  to." 

Mrs.  Desborough  enjoyed  managing  social  affairs. 


230  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

She  was  skillful  and  knew  it.  In  her  circle  she  was 
often  appealed  to  in  questions  of  prestige  and  eti 
quette,  and  she  felt  her  position  to  be  one  of  author 
ity  in  these  matters.  She  was  speaking  from  her 
social  throne  now. 

"  We  are  being  dragged  into  a  new  set,  Bobert, 
and  that  is  the  harm,"  she  said,  as  if  it  were  a 
grievous  thing.  "And  I  don't  know  where  it  is 
going  to  lead  us.  Why,  here  I  am,  actually  begin 
ning  to  receive  calls  from  the  mothers  of  Grace's 
friends!  Mrs.  Morton  came  to  see  me  only  this 
very  afternoon,  and  without  any  invitation  what 
ever!  She  said  that  since  our  children  were  — 
No,  let  me  think  of  her  exact  words ;  they  were  as 
prim  as  her  Quaker  bonnet.  She  said,  'Since  a 
friendly  intercourse  has  sprung  up  between  our 
children,  Father  and  I  thought  we  had  better  make 
the  acquaintance  of  thyself  and  husband. '  Taking 
it  all  into  their  own  hands,  as  if  "  — 

Mr.  Desborough  took  his  cigar  out  of  his  mouth 
to  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"It  is  true!  "  said  his  wife,  with  a  dead  wall  ex 
pression,  as  if  here  was  a  problem  which  even  she 
could  not  solve.  "Her  very  words!  Think  of  a 
little  Quaker  woman,  all  in  gray,  coming  to  teach 
me  my  social  obligations !  " 

Mr.  Desborough  roared  again. 

"It  is  a  sight  I  am  sorry  to  have  missed,  my 
dear,"  he  said.  "What  encouragement  did  you 
give  her?" 

"Just  as  little  as  would  answer  for  the  occasion," 
she  replied  promptly.  "Plenty,  however,  for  the 


THE  ARISTOCRACY  AT  AUNT  PEGGY'S.     231 

instruction  of  anybody  but  a  Quaker.  I  talked 
about  the  many  social  demands  made  upon  me, 
the  difficulties  resulting  from  widening  one's  circle, 
and  so  on,  but  —  law !  I  might  as  well  have  talked 
to  one  of  Eloise's  dolls!  There  she  sat,  smiling  at 
me  like  an  immovable  saint,  and  the  more  I  said, 
the  less  she  understood.  And  she  went  off  finally, 
thanking  me  for  the  pleasure  her  call  had  given  her 
and  saying  that  she  understood  how  'great  my  obli 
gations  were  to  the  world  in  which  I  moved,'  and 
that  she  'hoped  I  would  go  to  see  her  only  at  my 
own  convenience!  Don't  trouble  thyself  at  all,'  she 
said;  'Father  and  I  will  call  together  sometime, 
when  thy  husband  is  likely  to  be  at  home.  We  will 
be  friendly  with  one  another,  for  our  children's 
sakes.'  H'm!  I  feel  as  if  I  had  had  a  Quaker  ser 
mon  preached  to  me  in  my  own  parlor.  'For  our 
children's  sakes!'  I  wish  Horace  and  Grace  had 
never  seen  one  of  their  children!  " 

Mrs.  Desborough  felt  all  these  things  so  keenly 
that  she  took  occasion  to  present  them  seriously  to 
Horace.  He  had  grown  reticent  in  expressing  his 
opinions.  He  had  ceased  all  criticism  of  his  sister's 
friends.  As  "a  set,"  he  had  ridiculed  and  objected 
to  them,  but,  as  individuals,  he  had  been  for  two 
months  steadily  learning  that  they  were  more  intel 
ligent  and  attractive  than  most  of  the  people  in  cir 
cles  to  which  he  was  accustomed.  When  his  mother 
appealed  to  him  to  confirm  the  opinions  he  expressed 
in  the  beginning,  he  tried  to  modify  them,  changed 
his  tone,  and  bluffed  into  other  subjects. 

Mr.   Desborough,  too,  was  beginning  to  be  anx- 


232  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

ious  because  of  his  son's  reticence  in  business  mat 
ters.  The  case  which  they  had  talked  much  about 
together  had  dropped  out  of  their  conversations. 
If  Mr.  Desborough  inquired  about  it,  Horace's  an 
swers  were  short  and  indefinite.  Perhaps  it  was 
only  because  of  other  interests.  He  seemed  devoted 
to  Grace,  to  enjoy  taking  her  about  to  places,  to 
Mrs.  Kemble's  readings,  to  Wallack's,  to  their 
parties,  and  everywhere;  it  was  natural  for  young 
people  to  hobnob  with  one  another,  and  certainly 
there  was  no  need  to  worry  because  of  a  young 
fellow's  attentions  to  his  sister.  Mr.  Desborough 
wished  they  would  go  oftener  to  the  Gray  thorns', 
and  wondered  if  that  young  Hedges  was  exerting 
any  undue  influence  over  his  son.  He  decided  that 
he  would  ask  Graythorn  a  question  or  two  concern 
ing  Horace's  work  upon  that  case. 

But  there  was  no  manner  of  use  in  the  resistance 
of  these  parents  to  the  natural  course  of  events  and 
its  results.  There  was  certainly  a  revolution  going 
on  in  the  Desborough  family,  and  it  was  idle  to  try 
to  check  it  in  its  course. 

It  was  harder  than  ever  for  Mrs.  Desborough  to 
keep  up  the  proprieties.  Even  Eloise  was  giving 
her  trouble,  creating  a  little  flurry  of  her  own  by 
announcing  that  she  was  invited  to  go  to  Peggy's 
house-warming  with  Grace,  and  that  she  was  going. 
Eloise 's  method  of  gaining  a  point  was  to  claim  it 
at  the  outset. 

The  account  which  Grace  had  given  of  Peggy's 
wedding  was  tame  beside  the  one  which  Betty  Stan- 
wood  gave  at  school.  Betty  had  begun  hers  at  re- 


THE  ARISTOCRACY  AT  AUNT  PEGGY'S.     233 

cess,  on  the  day  before  the  wedding,  by  proclaiming 
to  a  dozen  of  her  classmates,  "I  'm  not  coming  to 
school  to-morrow;  I  'm  going  to  be  a  bridesmaid!  " 
Of  course  the  girls  had  broken  into  a  clatter  of 
exclamations  and  questions,  which  brought  out  the 
story  of  Scipio  and  Peggy  from  little  Betty's  point 
of  view.  The  noses  of  the  other  children  were  well 
up,  but  their  interest  was  great,  for,  beside  her 
powerful  imagination,  Betty  had  considerable  gift 
for  narrating,  and  her  stories  were  popular.  Eloise 
Desborough  intimated  that,  when  she  was  a  brides 
maid,  the  bride  would  at  least  be  a  white  one,  and 
rather  produced  an  atmosphere  of  scorn  around 
Betty.  The  children  looked  askance  at  Betty,  but 
the  story  was  too  spicy  to  be  injured  by  a  few  airs. 
So  it  all  came  out,  down  to  the  details  of  what  dif 
ferent  friends  had  done  toward  getting  the  little 
house  furnished,  to  the  rag  carpet  for  it,  made  of 
bits  of  Stanwood  clothes,  the  flowered  cups  and 
saucers,  the  armchairs  for  Scipio  and  Peggy,  and 
the  two  wooden  chairs  with  their  legs  shortened  to 
suit  the  legs  of  Betty  and  Dick,  who  were  to  occupy 
them  when  Scipio  should  tell  them  stories.  The 
bust  of  Venus  overtopped  everything  else,  in  Betty's 
description,  and  was  a  crowning  splendor  with 
which  nothing  short  of  the  original  goddess  could 
compare.  In  fact,  Betty  reached  so  fine  a  climax 
with  Venus  that  Eloise  was  pleased  to  remark,  "My 
sister  gave  that,"  and  thereby  drew  to  herself  a  re 
flected  glory. 

Now  Eloise  Desborough  looked  askance  at  Betty 
for  being  on  an  equality  with  a  degraded  race,  quite 


234  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

as  much  as  any  of  the  girls  did,  but  there  was  a 
point  beyond  which  she  could  not  hold  out.  She 
had  missed  one  comic  performance  (the  wedding) 
and  she  had  no  intention  of  missing  another  one. 

Eloise's  little  inquisitive  nose  scented,  with  re 
markable  subtlety,  anything  unusual  which  occurred 
in  the  family.  Her  detection  of  confidences  or  mys 
teries  was  as  remarkable  as  the  scent  of  an  Irish 
setter  in  tracing  the  footsteps  of  his  master.  Hor 
ace  had  had  no  conversations  concerning  his  altered 
views  on  the  subject  of  slavery  and  the  colored  race, 
excepting  with  Grace,  on  that  sleigh  ride,  and  with 
Mr.  Hedges,  in  the  privacy  of  his  own  room,  yet 
Eloise  appealed  to  him  as  to  the  one  who  would 
most  ably  help  her  to  carry  her  point  by  gaining 
permission  for  her  to  go  to  Peggy's  and  Scipio's 
house-warming.  He  persuaded  her  to  consent  to  a 
compromise  and  to  go  to  Scipio's  with  him,  in  the 
brett,  which  he  meant  to  take  to  Gowanus  in  the 
afternoon  for  the  purpose  of  driving  Grace  and  Miss 
Stanwood  home.  Eloise  got  more  than  she  bar 
gained  for;  Horace  provided  her  with  a  most  unex 
pected  companion,  in  the  person  of  Havilah's  little 
girl,  Diana. 

After  that  occasion  when  Tibbie  MacClare  and 
Havilah  had  both  lost  their  tempers  over  the  child, 
the  latter 's  companionship  had  been  a  source  of  dis 
comfort,  rather  than  pleasure,  to  her  mother.  It 
was  with  eagerness,  therefore,  that  Havilah  accepted 
Peggy's  offer  to  take  Diana  to  live  with  Scipio  and 
herself  at  Gowanus,  for  as  long  a  time  as  Tibbie 
should  remain  at  Mr.  Stanwood's.  "An'  dat  won't 


THE  ARISTOCRACY  AT  AUNT  PEGGY'S.     235 

be  forebber,  I  c'otion  yo',  Hablah,"  Peggy  pre 
dicted.  "Cose  Miss  Tibbie  is  made  ob  de  mos' 
dangerous  elements,  she  is,  an'  some  day  she 's 
gwine  to  bu'st  up  an'  go  off,  like  a  streak  o'  light- 
nin'.  It  '11  be  powerful  good  luck,  too,  if  de  light- 
nin'  don't  strike  somewhars  an'  make  destruction, 
dat  'twill!"  It  was  decided  that  the  time  of  the 
house-warming  would  be  the  most  convenient  one 
for  the  removal  of  Diana,  as  Peggy  wanted  Havi- 
lah's  assistance  in  making  the  occasion  a  success. 
The  child  could  go  with  the  party,  and  remain  in 
stead  of  returning.  All  knowledge  of  the  friction 
between  Havilah  and  Tibbie  had  been  kept  from 
Mrs.  Stan  wood,  who  readily  accepted,  as  a  reason 
for  the  change,  Havilah's  nervousness  lest  her  mas 
ter  might  renew  his  search  for  her,  and  a  feeling 
of  greater  security  in  having  Diana  somewhere  else 
than  under  the  same  roof  with  herself.  Mrs.  Stan- 
wood  agreed  to  the  arrangement  without  much  ques 
tioning.  She  fully  understood  the  tendency  of  ne 
groes  to  huddle  together,  and  knew  that  Havilah 
would  feel  Diana's  safety  better  assured  among  her 
own  people.  Havilah's  nervous  dread  of  her  mas 
ter's  reappearance  was  so  great  that  she  lived  on  the 
alert.  She  expected  to  see  him  every  time  she  went 
into  the  street,  and  hence  had  the  strongest  objec 
tion  to  going  anywhere  in  company  with  the  child. 
When  Horace  Desborough  was  planning  the  drive 
home  from  Scipio's,  with  the  sole  object  of  getting 
Rachel  Stanwood  on  the  seat  beside  him,  he  inci 
dentally  discovered  Havilah's  fears  and  offered  to 
take  little  Diana  to  Gowanus,  with  Eloise  and  him- 


236  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

self.  He  had  his  doubts  as  to  Eloise 's  acceptance  of 
Diana's  company,  but  —  but  he  would  have  Rachel 
beside  him,  all  the  way  home!  He  would  manage 
Eloise  somehow. 

Eloise  behaved  better  than  her  brother  had  ex 
pected  her  to.  In  the  first  place,  she  was  ignorant 
of  the  fact  that  Diana  was  not  a  pure-blooded  white 
child. 

"Who  is  she?  And  why  are  we  going  to  take 
her?"  she  had  asked,  but  when  Horace  answered, 
"I  will  tell  you  presently,"  she  was  satisfied.  And 
Diana  was  bewitching,  in  her  delight  at  being  in 
such  a  beautiful  carriage.  As  soon  as  she  was 
seated  she  looked  several  times,  with  a  radiant  face, 
back  and  forth,  from  Eloise  to  Horace,  and  then  let 
out  her  joy  upon  them  in  a  laugh  that  was  so  happy 
that  it  came  almost  with  a  sob.  Her  face  had  that 
too-happy  expression  which  touches  one  sometimes 
to  the  quick.  Horace  knew  very  little  about  chil 
dren,  but  Diana's  wordless  gratitude  was  unmistak 
able.  He  put  his  arm  around  the  little  mite  and 
snuggled  her  closer  under  the  fur  robe.  Eloise 
helped  him  with  the  child,  fastening  her  cloak  more 
securely,  straightening  her  hood  and  matronizing 
her  with  great  satisfaction.  By  the  time  that  Eloise 
discovered  that  the  child  was  a  slave,  Diana,  over 
come  by  the  motion  of  the  carriage,  the  fresh  air, 
and  too  much  to  look  at,  was  fast  asleep  with  her 
head  flopped  over  against  Horace. 

Horace  explained  who  Diana  was,  because  he 
wanted  Eloise  to  keep  the  secret  of  the  child's  ref 
uge.  If  she  was  generally  selfish,  thoughtless,  and 


THE  ARISTOCRACY  AT  AUNT  PEGGY'S.     237 

loved  worldliness,  Eloise  was  human.  She  prom 
ised  to  keep  the  secret  and  Horace  knew  that  she 
would.  She  tried,  considerately,  too,  to  move  the 
child  to  lean  against  herself,  instead  of  her  brother, 
"I  don't  see  how  you  can  drive  with  her  there,"  she 
said.  But  the  child's  body  was  entirely  relaxed, 
and  drooped  helplessly  to  Horace's  side. 

"Let  her  stay  so,  I  like  it,"  he  said,  and  along 
the  little-traveled  Brooklyn  street  leading  to  Gow- 
anus,  where  it  was  easy  to  drive  with  one  hand,  his 
left  hand  kept  the  fur  robe  in  place  over  little  Di. 

The  Desborough  carriage,  stopping  at  Scipio's 
dwelling,  marked  the  dwellers  therein  as  aristocracy 
among  the  colored  population  of  Gowanus. 

"Sonny,"  called  Scipio,  to  a  very  dark  little  ne 
gro  boy  who  was  peering  from  the  lean-to  of  a 
neighboring  shanty,  "can't  yo'  git  somebody  to 
come  yer  an'  hoi'  dese  horses?"  The  boy  himself 
and  a  dozen  others,  of  all  ages  and  complexions, 
answered  the  call,  from  so  many  different  directions 
that  it  seemed  as  if  they  had  sprung  out  of  the 
ground.  Horace  handed  sleepy  little  Di  over  the 
wheel  to  Havilah,  and  helped  Eloise  down  amid 
the  gaze  of  a  small  population.  Betty  and  Dick 
Stanwood,  at  the  gate  to  receive  them,  envied  Eloise 
her  grandeur.  A  dusky  population  was,  to  them, 
perhaps  even  a  little  more  distinguished  than  a  white 
one,  and  they  thought  Eloise  must  feel  proud  of  its 
admiring  eyes.  But  she  did  not;  she  was  disap 
pointed.  She  had  expected  the  cottage  to  look  like 
the  engraving  of  "My  Childhood's  Home,"  which. 


238  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

Lung  in  her  room,  and  to  have,  like  the  house  in 
the  picture,  a  balcony  and  trellises,  a  vine-covered 
porch,  and  latticed  windows.  "Nobody  told  me  it 
was  a  shanty,"  she  said  to  Betty  contemptuously. 

"It  isn't  a  shanty!  "  snapped  Betty  indignantly, 
and  feeling  personally  insulted. 

But,  from  Eloise's  point  of  view,  it  certainly  was, 
being  a  one-story  wooden  building,  clapboarded  and 
unpainted,  with  a  lean-to  at  the  back.  There  were 
no  trees  at  all  and  the  ground  around  the  house  was 
barren,  excepting  for  stubble.  There  was  a  small 
outbuilding  for  the  accommodation  of  Scipio's  horse 
and  cart.  House,  shed,  and  ground  were  enclosed 
by  a,  low  board  fence. 

Elizabeth  and  Richard  had  Eloise's  superiority  all 
to  themselves,  as  they  conducted  her  from  one  to 
another  of  the  four  rooms  into  which  the  cottage  was 
divided,  showed  off  Peggy's  best  china  and  homely 
treasures,  and,  in  refutation  of  the  house  being  called 
a  shanty,  made  her  climb  the  funny  little  crooked 
stairs  which  led  from  the  parlor  to  a  low  attic, 
under  the  ridgepole,  with  the  smallest  of  windows 
at  each  end.  In  common  justice  to  Eloise  it  could 
not  be  denied  that  the  cottage  fell  far  short  of  the 
glories  of  Elizabeth's  description  at  school,  and,  that 
fact  taken  fairly  into  account,  she  behaved  very  well. 
The  hospitality  of  Scipio  and  Peggy  bore  down  upon 
her,  too,  with  its  freight  of  chocolate  to  drink  and  de 
licious  cake,  of  which  there  were  three  little  loaves, 
beautifully  iced  and  on  funny  earthen  plates,  for  the 
children  to  take  home.  Eloise  was  hungry  after  her 
drive,  and  Peggy's  cake  and  chocolate  went  to  the 
right  spot. 


THE  ARISTOCRACY  AT  AUNT  PEGGY'S.     239 

To  Scipio  and  Peggy  the  distinction  of  receiving 
Horace  was  secondary  to  that  of  entertaining  Grace, 
and,  under  the  influence  of  her  warm  and  simple 
nature,  their  sense  of  awe  and  responsibility  had 
thawed  into  genuine,  hearty  pleasure.  Horace,  al 
though  sensible  of  an  out-of -place  feeling,  saw  the 
prettiness  of  the  cottage  interior,  and,  in  the  glow  of 
the  open  Franklin  stove,  listening  to  Mrs.  Stan  wood 
drawing  out  stories  of  their  experiences  from  Scipio 
and  Peggy,  he  felt  his  new  interest  in  the  oppressed 
race  grow  keener  and  more  real  every  moment.  As 
Havilah  passed  a  cup  of  chocolate  to  Rachel,  he  no 
ticed  her  face.  Her  skin  was  no  darker  than  that 
of  many  a  brunette  whom  he  had  known,  —  Miss 
Gray  thorn's,  for  instance.  Her  forehead  was  more 
intellectual,  and,  but  for  that  half  scowl  and  the  hard 
lines  about  her  mouth,  he  would  call  her  handsomer 
than  Miss  Gray  thorn.  In  a  drawing-room,  dressed 
suitably,  she  would  be  pointed  out  as  a  remarkably 
fine-looking  woman.  She  had  not  the  carriage  of  a 
lady;  that  was  natural  enough,  poor  thing.  How 
could  you  expect  a  woman,  hunted  as  she  was,  to 
have  any  sort  of  bearing  but  one  of  subjection? 
Following  this  train  of  thought,  Horace  lost  track 
of  Scipio's  last  story  and  heard  only  his  closing  re 
marks. 

"Dat's  so!  Dat's  de  way  it'll  be,  jes'  as  sar- 
tain  as  de  Day  ob  Judgment." 

"How  will  it  be?  "  Horace  asked. 

Scipio  pointed  to  an  engraving  of  Ary  Schaeffer's 
"Christus  Consolator,"  over  the  mantelpiece.  He 
pointed  to  the  figure  of  the  African,  with  his  arms, 


240  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

from  which  broken  fetters  were  falling,  outstretched 
toward  the  Saviour. 

"Dat-a-way,"  he  said  solemnly.  "De  chains  o? 
bondage  will  be  broke  forebber!  " 

Scipio  was  tuning  up.  At  the  South  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  speak  at  prayer-meetings,  and,  since 
he  had  lived  in  the  North,  he  had  taken  advantage 
of  the  freedom  of  speech  allowed  at  the  semi-public 
meetings  among  his  people,  and  often  waxed  elo 
quent.  The  present  occasion  had  progressed  and 
was  drawing  to  a  close  without  any  ceremonies  ex 
cepting  the  blessing  which  he  had  asked  at  the  din 
ner  table.  Peggy  had  forborne  even  to  mention 
Deuteronomy,  although  her  eyes  had  fixed  them 
selves  upon  Horace  and  Eloise  as  probably  ignorant 
of  its  gospel.  And  now  Scipio,  started  up  by  Mr. 
Desborough's  question,  "How  will  it  be?"  felt  it 
incumbent  upon  himself  to  address  the  meeting  be 
fore  it  adjourned. 

The  "Chains  of  Bondage"  was  a  favorite  text 
with  him  always ;  he  had  felt  them  and  knew  what 
he  was  talking  about.  Eloise  unconsciously  started 
him  upon  it  now,  with  Ary  Schaeffer's  picture  for 
illustration,  in  a  blaze  of  anger  so  just  that  it  could 
not  avoid  being  eloquent.  Eloise  was  at  Horace's 
elbow  when  Scipio  answered  his  question.  Her 
eyes,  which  nothing  escaped,  caught  two  facts,  — 
the  important  one  that  here,  in  this  poor  little  shanty, 
was  an  engraving  like  one  which  hung  in  the  library 
at  home,  and  the  minor  fact  that  this  picture  con 
tained  a  superfluous  figure. 

She  edged  up  to  her  brother,  pointed  to  it  and 


THE  ARISTOCRACY  AT  AUNT  PEGGY'S.     241 

asked  in  an  undertone,  not  observing  that  Scipio 
had  approached  and  was  listening,  "Horace,  what 
does  Betty's  Uncle  Scipio  mean  about  chains?  I 
see  them  there,  but  our  picture  at  home  is  different 
and  much  prettier;  that  black  man  isn't  in  ours  at 
all,  why  is  he  in  this  one?" 

Scipio  made  Eloise  jump,  catching  at  her  words 
and  shouting  behind  her,  "  Why  ?  Yo'  axes  why 
dat  man  is  lef  outen  yo'  picture  to  home?  Cose 
dey  is  people  in  de  Norf  w'at  doan  want  dat  man 
to  go  to  heabeii!  Dey  wants  him  to  wuk  all  de 
days  ob  his  life  on  de  plantations,  plantin',  an' 
diggin',  an'  hoein',  an'  toilin',  day  in  an'  day  out, 
so  's  dey  can  hab  de  rice,  an'  de  sugar,  an'  de  cotton, 
an'  de  'baccy,  w'en  dey  's  ready  to  take  de'r  res'  by 
de  chimbley  co'ner.  Dey  wants  him  on'y  to  res  jes' 
long  'nough  so  's  he  can  begin  nex'  mawnin'  fresh 
an'  smaht,  an'  —  nebba  min',  chillen,  tellin'  yo' 
'bout  de  wives  an'  de  mudders  holpin'  'long,  an'  de 
oberseer,  an'  all  dat, — yo '11  lun  'bout  dat  soon 
'nough, — de  man  hissel'  's  'nough  fo'  yo'  'ntelli- 
gence.  I  says  dey  's  people  in  the  Norf"  —  Scipio 
used  the  back  of  Mrs.  Stan  wood's  chair,  for  want 
of  a  pulpit  rail,  gesticulating  over  her  head.  He 
wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  face  before  he  went 
on:  "dey  's  people  in  de  Norf  dat  wants  de  African 
fo'  jes'  dem  pupposes  an'  dat 's  all.  Wen  he  's 
done  his  wuk,  — w'en  he  's  wuk'd  out  an'  can't  do 
no  mo',  an'  he  's  ready  to  lay  down  his  ole  bones, 
—  dey '11  make  room  fo'  'im  in  de  dus',  but  dey 
hasn't  got  any  use  fo'  'im  any  furder.  Dey  'd  like 
him  jes'  to  stay  in  de  groun',  — but  he  need  n't  go 


242  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD, 

to  heaben,  whah  dey  specs  to  go.  JVb,  bredren 
an'  sisteren!  Dose  people  ain't  got  no  use  fo'  de 
African  in  dat  place!  De  wuk  's  all  done,  up  dah! 
De  shubbles  an'  de  hoes  is  put  'way,  an'  de  place  is 
all  cleaned  up,  spic  an'  span,  ready  for  de  Jubilee, 
an'  dey  ain't  no  place  dah  fo'  de  African!  He 
needn't  try  to  git  inside,  — not  eben  to  peek  in  de 
cracks,  dey 's  gwine  to  shet  de  do^ ! "  Scipio's 
arms  made  a  gesture  as  if  they  swept  the  race  out 
of  existence.  He  was  getting  oratorical.  The  chil 
dren  stopped  listening.  Eloise,  on  the  alert  for 
amusement,  nudged  Betty  and  tried  to  make  her 
laugh.  Betty  and  Dick  were  too  accustomed  to  this 
sort  of  thing  to  get  up  emotions  over  it,  and  too  rev 
erential  toward  it  to  be  amused.  "Let 's  go  in  the 
kitchen  and  pack  up  our  cakes  and  play  'Come-se- 
come! '  "  Kichard  suggested,  and  they  sneaked  out 
in  a  body. 

Horace  and  Grace  were  intensely  interested. 

"But  nobody  except  the  Lord  has  power  to  close 
the  gates  of  Heaven  against  any  one,"  said  Grace 
earnestly,  "and  Jesus  will  save  all  if" 

"Dat's  true!  Dat 's  true!  I  knows  dat,  bress 
yo',  Miss  Desbrum,"  said  Scipio,  his  face  relaxing 
into  smiles.  "An'  dat 's  whar  dose  people  I'm 
talkin'  'bout  is  gwine  to  git  berry  much  disapp'inted 
at  de  time  ob  de  Day  ob  Judgment.  I  ain't  any 
ways  troubled  'bout  w'at  de  Laivd  's  gwine  to  do! 
Nor  Jesus,  nudder.  But  yo'  axed  'bout  how  'twas 
dat  black  man  was  lef  outen  de  same  picture  in  yo' 
house.  I  'm  a  tellin'  yo'  de  fax  ob  de  case,  dat 's 
all,  an'  in  a  minute  yo  '11  reach  de  census  ob  de 


THE  ARISTOCRACY  AT  AUNT  PEGGY'S.     243 

argyment.  It's  on'y  jes'  dis, — de  Sabiour,  He 
sayd,  'Come  unto  me  all  dat 's  heaby  laden,'  and 
dose  people  I  has  mentioned,  dey  t'inks  dat  means 
everybody  'cept  de  African.  Dey  likes  dat  picture, 
an'  dey  wants  it  in  the  praher  books  an'  different 
places,  so  dey  jes'  rubs  de  man  out,  an'  dat  fixes 
it  all  right  fo'  dere  use.  Dat  's  why  dey  publishes 
half  de  pictures  athout  de  black  man,  —  to  suit  de 
fashion.  An'  dose  pictures  gits  into  people's  houses 
like  yores  cose  folks  like  yore  folks  doan'  know  de 
man  b' longs  dah." 

Scipio  was  embarrassed  by  the  difficulty  he  felt 
here  of  convincing  Grace  and  her  brother  that  he 
did  not  number  them  among  those  exclusive  and 
objectionable  people  of  the  North  who  had  been  the 
subject  of  his  remarks.  "I  don't  know  w'at  dose 
folks '11  do  w'en  dey  gits  dar ! '"  he  said,  slapping 
his  knees  and  laughing,  "cose,  sartain  sho',  dar  de 
Africans  is  gwine  to  be,  an'  dey  's  a  heap  o'  folks  'd 
rather  come  back  dan  to  stay  in  de  same  comp'ny !  " 

But  it  was  time  for  the  guests  to  depart,  and  the 
stir  of  breaking  up  began.  Mrs.  Stan  wood,  with 
Betty  and  Dick  and  Havilah,  were  the  first  to  go. 

Horace  and  Grace  urged  Mrs.  Stanwood  to  let 
them  take  Havilah  home  in  the  carriage,  as  the  safer 
way  for  her  to  go.  Mrs.  Stanwood  was  delighted 
with  their  offer,  but  refused  it,  assuring  them  that 
Havilah' s  long  cloak  and  thick  veil  protected  her 
completely  from  recognition,  even  should  they  meet 
anybody  who  knew  her.  Mrs.  Stanwood  acquainted 
her  with  the  invitation,  only  to  show  her  how  many 
friends  there  were,  on  all  sides,  anxious  to  protect 


244  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

her.  Havilah  looked  up  at  Horace  with  sad,  heavy 
eyes  and  said,  "I  thank  yo',  sir;  and  I  thank  yo' 
for  yo'r  kindness  in  bringing  my  little  girl.  Yo' 
can't"  She  looked  from  him  to  Grace  beside 
him,  and  all  the  lines  of  her  face  softened  with  a 
hopeless  smile,  as  if  words  were  useless. 

"Can't  what?"  asked  Grace,  moving  closer  to 
Horace  and  taking  hold  of  his  hand  which  he  had 
laid  upon  her  shoulder.  Grace  repeated,  "Can't 
what?  I  think  we  can,  you  know." 

"Oh  no,  no!"  said  Havilah,  with  an  expression 
almost  of  pity  for  Grace's  innocence.  "I  was  going 
to  say  only  that  yo'  can't  ever  need  such  kindness, 
and  so  yo'  can't  ever  know  how  it  feels  to  owe  any 
body  what  I  owe  to  yo'."  She  bent  down  suddenly 
to  embrace  Diana  and  say  good-by  to  her  once  more. 
The  child  squeezed  her  mother's  neck  in  her  arms 
and  kissed  her  fervently,  but  made  no  resistance  at 
being  parted  from  her.  She  climbed  into  a  chair 
by  the  window  and  craned  her  little  neck  to  see  the 
last  flutter  of  her  mother's  dress  as  she  went  away. 
Her  self-control  was  pitiful. 

"Why  doesn't  she  cry?  7'd  like  to,"  said 
Grace  to  Rachel. 

"She  has  been  moved  from  pillar  to  post  until 
she  is  too  accustomed  to  being  parted  from  her  mo 
ther  to  make  any  fuss  about  it,"  said  Rachel. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 
KACHEL'S  TALISMAN. 

ON  the  drive  home,  with  Eachel  Stanwood  beside 
him,  Horace  Desborough  was  gayer  than  Grace  had 
ever  seen  him.  She  and  Eloise,  on  the  back  seat, 
were  rather  quiet.  Indeed,  Grace  would  have  been 
depressed  had  Horace's  spirits  been  less  buoyant. 
All  that  talk  about  Ary  Schaeffer's  picture,  together 
with  the  patient,  submissive  parting  between  Havi- 
lah  and  her  child,  filled  Grace's  mind  with  sad 
thoughts  which  gave  her  such  a  realizing  sense  of 
the  wickedness  of  slavery  that  she  felt  heavy-hearted. 
She  could  not  understand  how  Horace  could  be  op 
positely  affected.  He  seemed  to  have  thrown  off  a 
burden  and  to  be  joyous  in  his  relief.  Had  Grace 
seen  his  face  she  might  have  thought  of  another 
reason  for  his  happiness.  Rachel  saw  it,  and,  with 
out  guessing  or  questioning,  caught  his  spirit  of 
gayety.  The  drive  was  very  exhilarating.  It  was 
a  rare  treat  to  her  and  she  seized  every  pleasure 
it  afforded,  the  irresponsibility  as  to  direction  and 
the  delight  of  looking  at  the  sky,  the  landscape, 
the  river,  the  bustling,  crowding  human  life  in  the 
streets,  all  as  pictures,  herself  a  looker-on,  and  not 
a  part  of  them.  Driving  was  too  much  of  a  nov 
elty  for  her  to  enjoy  it  tamely.  She  and  Horace 


246  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

were  meeting  upon  new  ground,  too,  and  it  was  re 
freshing  and  delightful.  They  talked  about  music, 
Jenny  Lind,  Ole  Bull,  the  Philharmonic  orchestra, 
pictures,  the  Dusseldorf  gallery,  everything  that 
was  only  happy,  and  did  not  touch  upon  one  of  the 
serious  subjects  which  had  hitherto  seemed  to  make 
up  all  they  had  to  converse  upon.  Occasionally, 
where  it  was  safe,  Horace  put  the  reins  in  Rachel's 
hands,  and  gave  her  elaborate  lessons  in  driving, 
and  she  enjoyed  a  delicious  sense  of  power  in  guid 
ing  and  controlling  the  horses.  Her  ignorance  gave 
her  courage ;  she  thought  she  was  skillful  and  was 
unconscious  of  Horace's  dexterity  in  taking  the 
reins  from  her  whenever  any  real  skill  was  neces 
sary.  Grace  held  the  reins,  while  Horace  helped 
Rachel  to  alight  at  her  door  and  rang  the  bell  for 
her.  Her  face  was  radiant  when  she  thanked  him, 
all  aglow  with  nothing  but  pure,  light-hearted  plea 
sure  for  which  he  was  responsible. 

When  the  door  closed  Tibbie  MacClare  gave  her 
a  card  and  told  her  there  was  a  beautiful  bunch 
of  flowers  in  the  parlor  for  her  which  "  the  gentle 
man  himself  had  brought "  only  a  little  while  be 
fore.  Rachel  looked  at  Burton  River ston's  card, 
laid  it  on  the  hat-stand  shelf,  and  went  upstairs  to 
take  her  things  off,  without  stopping  to  look  at  the 
flowers. 

Horace  Desborough  had,  to  use  his  own  expres 
sion,  discovered  himself.  He  had  gotten  rid  of  a 
burden  of  doubt,  and  knew  now  just  where  he  stood 
and  what  was  before  him.  Scipio's  explanation  of 
Ary  Schaeffer's  picture  came  as  a  climax  to  all  his 


RACHEL'S   TALISMAN.  247 

thinking  and  he  had  decided  upon  his  course.  That 
was  one  secret  of  his  gay  spirits. 

But  it  was  a  long  time  before  he  felt  that  kind  of 
gayety  again.  He  seemed  to  grow  quiet  after  that 
visit  to  Scipio's,  spent  a  good  many  evenings  in 
Will  Hedges'  room,  and  left  his  father  to  smoke  his 
after-dinner  cigar  alone.  Grace  understood  him 
now  better  than  the  others  did,  and  waited.  He 
went  with  her  where  she  wanted  to  go,  took  her  to 
drive,  and  was  with  her  as  much  as  possible  when 
he  was  at  home,  but  he  was  not  confidential  any 
more. 

"I  'm  working  out  my  own  salvation,"  he  said  to 
her  one  morning  in  the  latter  part  of  May,  as  he 
was  starting  off  to  his  business.  "The  crisis  is 
near  at  hand;  as  soon  as  it 's  over,  I  '11  tell  you  all 
you  want  to  know." 

"Well,  you  seem  to  have  decided,  at  least,  and 
that 's  one  thing,"  she  said,  improving  the  knot  of 
his  necktia. 

"Yes,  dear,  I  have  decided,"  was  all  he  answered. 
Then  he  kissed  her  and  went  away. 

A  few  days  after,  walking  up  town  with  Will 
Hedges,  he  told  him  all  about  it,  and  ended  with: 
"So  there  it  is,  Hedges  —  I  'm  going  to  disappoint 
nearly  everybody  and  make  my  father  think  I  'm 
going  to  the  devil!  " 

"Do  you  feel  yourself  that  you  're  going  there?" 
Will  asked,  smiling. 

"No  —  I  feel  like  a  man,"  said  Horace. 

After  they  separated,  Horace  stopped  at  a  flo 
rist's  and  bought  a  quantity  of  pink  rosebuds.  "If 


248  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

it  would  n't  be  imitating  Hedges,"  he  thought,  "I  'd 
like  to  cross  the  Hoboken  ferry  and  tramp  after 
some  wild  flowers,  —  something  awfully  hard  to 
get."  He  went  a  mile  out  of  his  way  to  leave  his 
roses  at  Mr.  Stan  wood's  door,  for  Eachel. 

In  the  evening  he  went  to  call  upon  her.  After 
a  little  ordinary  talk  about  nothing  in  particular 
she  looked  up  at  him  and  asked,  — 

"What  is  the  matter?  Have  you  won  a  case 
to-day?" 

She  had  one  of  his  roses  in  her  hair,  and  was  do 
ing  some  fine  netting  work  which  made  her  hands 
fly  about  in  a  way  that  interested  him.  It  was  fas 
cinating  to  watch  her  give  the  fine  gold  cord  a  toss, 
push  the  long  needle  through  its  intricate  little  twist, 
and  then  pull  the  knot  taut. 

"Why  do  you  ask?  Are  you  a  clairvoyant?" 
asked  Horace. 

"Not  at  all,"  she  answered.  "It  does  not  need 
any  extraordinary  vision  to  see  that  something  has 
come  to  you  —  a  decision  in  your  favor,  a  triumph 
of  some  kind,  big  or  little;  good  luck  in  some 
form.  Come !  Has  n't  it  ?  " 

She  paused  with  her  needle  in  the  air  and  looked 
up  at  him  with  questioning  eyes. 

He  insisted  upon  knowing  what  made  her  think 
so,  saying:  "Give  me  your  ground  for  suspicion, 
and  then  I  will  make  my  confession." 

"Oh,  my  suspicion  is  justified,"  she  said,  throw 
ing  the  cord  over  her  left  thumb.  "In  the  first 
place,  you  look  better  satisfied  than  I  have  seen  you 
for — -oh,  for  weeks." 


RACHEL'S  TALISMAN.  249 

"Eight  so  far,  — I  am,"  he  said,  laughing  gently. 


"What  next?" 


"Well,"  she  said,  pulling  a  knot  firm,  "as  if 
something  had  been  given  to  you  which  you  had 
wanted  ever  so  long.  That  right?  " 

"No,  I  want  it  still,"  he  said,  amused.  "But  go 
on;  I'll  admit  the  'something.'  Why  can't  I  do 
that?  Show  me  how." 

The  silk  on  her  needle  had  given  out  and  she  was 
preparing  to  fill  it  again. 

"You'll  be  clumsy,  but  you  may,  if  you  like," 
she  said,  showing  him.  He  enjoyed  it  and  was 
purposely  slow.  When  he  had  secured  the  thread 
from  slipping  out  of  the  eye  of  the  long  netting 
needle,  he  said,  — 

"Go  on;  give  me  more  evidences  for  thinking  I 
have  had  some  good  luck.  You  have  not  justified 
your  remark  at  all,  so  far." 

"Well,"  said  Kachel,  folding  her  hands  together 
on  her  knee,  "you  looked,  when  you  came  in,  as 
if  you  had  come  to  the  end  of  something  hard ;  as  if 
you  had  got  what  you  had  aimed  for,  and  as  if  it 
were  something  you  had  a  right  to.  You  looked 
entirely  satisfied  with  yourself,  Mr.  Desborough. 
Now  for  your  confession  !  " 

"Ah!"  he  said,  holding  up  the  needle,  which 
would  not  hold  any  more  silk.  She  took  it,  laugh 
ing  at  his  filling  it  so  full,  and  made  it  turn  back 
and  forth  so  rapidly  that  he  could  not  see  it,  as  she 
unwound  two  or  three  yards. 

"See  what  a  long  piece  you  have  made  me  waste," 
she  said,  with  mock  reproach. 


250  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

He  took  the  needle  from  her,  professing  that  he 
wanted  to  learn  just  how  much  silk  to  put  on  it 
another  time.  What  he  really  wanted  was  her  un 
divided  attention,  and  to  have  her  hands  at  rest. 

As  she  opened  her  tiny  scissors  to  cut  off  the  su 
perfluous  piece  of  cord,  he  said,  "Now  you  are  going 
to  cut  the  thread  of  my  destiny." 

"Then  be  grateful  that  it  is  a  golden  one,"  she 
said,  laughing  and  snipping  the  silk.  "If  you'll 
do  that,  I  will  let  you  off  from  any  more  confes 
sions,  if  you  wish." 

"I  don't  wish,"  he  said  quickly.  "I  came  on 
purpose  to  make  them,  and  because  I  want  your  — 
interest." 

He  wanted  so  much  more  than  her  interest  that 
it  was  hard  not  to  tell  her  so.  He  bent  his  head 
over  his  hands  while  he  unwound  the  silk  again 
from  her  netting  needle. 

"I  have  come  to  the  end  of  something  difficult, 
and  I  sent  you  those  roses  because  I  wanted"  — 
He  sat  upright  and  made  an  effort  to  jest,  as  he 
gave  a  little  laugh  and  said,  "I  wanted  to  celebrate 
the  event." 

"Oh!"  came  in  a  joyful  little  exclamation  from 
Rachel,  as  she  flushed  with  pleasure  and  threw  a 
smile  at  him. 

"And  you  give  me  my  roses  that  I  may  help  cel 
ebrate.  I  am  so  glad,  and  thank  you  so"  —she 
began. 

"No,  don't,"  he  said,  impulsively.  "Here  — 
see  what  I  have  done  with  your  thread.  Take  it, 
please,  and  go  on  working.  I  'd  rather  you  would; 


RACHEL'S  TALISMAN.  251 

I  can  say  what  I  want  to  better,  if  you  don't  look 
at  me." 

He  gave  her  the  needle  and  silk  all  in  a  mess,  and 
she  obeyed  him  to  the  letter,  disentangling  the  silk, 
rewinding  it  and  resuming  her  work  industriously. 

Horace  told  his  story  as  directly  and  simply  as 
he  could:  "The  day  after  we  were  at  Scipio's  cot 
tage,  I  went  to  the  head  of  the  firm  which  I  was 
serving  and  withdrew  from  a  case  which  they  had 
given  me  to  work  upon.  If  they  win  it,  their  client 
will  become  the  owner  of  a  large  estate  in  Virginia, 
upon  which  there  are  a  good  many  slaves.  If  they 
lose  it,  the  estate  will  go  to  a  young  lady  who  is 
eager  to  sell  it  and  to  have  the  slaves  on  it  liberated. 
I  was  obliged  to  tell  Mr.  Graythorn  that  I  was  too 
anxious  to  have  the  case  lost  by  his  client  to  be  able 
to  work  upon  it.  Of  course  he  was  very  angry,  and 
we  had  a  pretty  hot  argument  in  which  he  tried  to 
convince  me  of  the  error  of  my  ways,  etc.  Never 
mind  all  that.  The  upshot  is  that  I  abandoned  the 
case  and  made  arrangements,  as  soon  I  could  finish 
certain  work  on  another  case  of  which  I  had  charge, 

O      ' 

to  abandon  the  firm.  No, — please  don't  speak, 
Miss  Stan  wood." 

Rachel  bent  her  head  again  over  her  work. 

"My  father  "  —  Horace  was  coming  to  the  hard 
est  part  now;  he  paused  a  little  and  began  again : 
"  My  father  is  disappointed.  He  is  more  than  that, 
—  he  is  angry.  I  don't  blame  him;  he  started  me 
a  year  ago  in  my  profession, — magnificently  too, 
and  I  made  a  mark  in  it  that  gratified  him  and 
made  him  think  I  was  going  to  fulfill  all  his  extrav- 


252  EACIIEL  STAN  WOOD. 

agant  expectations.  And  now  it 's  all  up!  We  've 
been  having  no  end  of  talks  and  arguments.  Ac 
cording  to  my  father,  my  whole  responsibility  is  the 
study  of  my  country's  laws  and  how  to  help  sustain 
them,  without  intruding  or  going  into  the  details 
of  personal  opinions  and  prejudices.  And  there  's 
a  good  deal  to  say  on  his  side,  too.  So  —  I  am  too 
proud  to  let  him  help  me  start  again,  and  I  'm  go 
ing  to  do  it  by  myself.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  be 
cause  the  first  thing  you  knew  about  me  was  ghastly, 
—  it  was  the  fact  of  my  helping  to  get  a  decision 
which  sent  two  men  back  to  slavery.  And  now  I 
want  you  to  know  that  —  I  believe  you  do  know  it, 
but  I  'cl  like  to  say  it  to  you,  —  that  I  call  things  now 
by  different  names;  the  honor  I  prided  myself  on 
then,  I  call  dishonor  now,  and  I  would  give  any 
thing  in  the  world  if  it  could  be  wiped  out  and  for 
gotten.  So  there  it  is,  and"  He  broke  off  and 
moved  nearer  to  the  table,  took  up  the  long  piece 
of  her  golden  silk  which  she  had  accused  him  of 
making  her  waste,  and  said  in  a  bright  way,  as  if  it 
were  easier  now  to  jest,  "Can't  I  have  this?  You 
accused  me  of  having  had  some  good  luck,  —  can't 
you  make  me  a  kind  of  talisman,  or  something,  of 
this  and  wish  me  success  in  my  new  enterprise?  " 

"Indeed  I  can!"  she  said  eagerly.  "Only  you 
shall  have  a  better  talisman  than  that.  See,  my 
work  is  finished,  and  if  you  will  have  it,  I  will  give 
it  to  you  with  wishes  for  the  most  crowning  success." 
She  held  up  a  tiny  purse,  exquisite  and  perfect  in 
its  make. 

"Aha!"   exclaimed  Horace,   seizing   it  joyfully. 


RACHEL'S   TALISMAN.  253 

"There  's  real  justice  too  in  your  giving  me  that." 
They  both  remembered  her  refusing  him  a  similar 
one  at  the  fair. 

Horace  made  a  point  of  her  writing  a  charm  to 
put  inside  of  the  purse,  and  she  brought  out  her 
desk.  They  made  an  important  thing  of  the  charm- 
making.  Finally  Rachel  wrote  on  a  bit  of  paper, 
"Courage,  prosperity,  and  success,"  and  asked  if 
that  would  do. 

"I  should  like  your  name  and  mine  on  it,  some 
how,"  said  Horace. 

Her  cheeks  burned  while  she  wrote,  "With  all 
my  heart  I  wish  all  three  to  my  friend,  Horace  Des- 
borough,"  and  signed  her  name. 

When  the  bit  of  paper  was  folded  and  put  inside 
of  the  purse,  Horace  made  a  final  difficulty  of  hav 
ing  the  latter  enclosed  in  a  suitable  wrap.  She  sat 
isfied  him  with  a  small  sheet  of  note-paper  from  her 
desk,  in  which  she  carefully  folded  the  purse. 

"And  there  goes  the  thread  of  my  destiny,"  Hor 
ace  said  while  he  was  insisting  upon  an  elaborate 
and  intricate  winding,  around  the  small  parcel,  of 
the  long,  wasted  piece  of  silk  from  which  he  would 
not  allow  her  to  cut  the  smallest  bit. 


CHAPTER   XV. 
AT  THE  BLACKSMITH'S  SHOP. 

FOE  the  best  part  of  the  winter  Mr.  Kreutsohn 
put  his  very  soul  into  the  lessons  which  he  gave  to 
Tibbie  MacClare.  His  day  dreams  carried  him  on 
to  the  time  when  he  might  bring  her  before  the  pub 
lic,  and  when  her  voice,  with  its  wonderful  passion, 
would  touch  the  heart  of  the  world.  That  was  worth 
working  for.  He  labored,  sacrificed,  and  toiled 
with  Tibbie  through  all  the  ups  and  downs  and  try 
ing  variations  of  her  disposition.  He  experienced 
every  possible  temperature  in  her  atmosphere,  and 
it  is  safe  to  say  that  she  put  him  through  as  many 
modulations  as  could  be  represented  by  a  dictionary 
of  musical  terms.  In  the  evening,  when  his  sister, 
who  shared  his  joys  and  sorrows,  his  sufferings  and 
day  dreams,  inquired  about  Tibbie,  he  would,  if  she 
had  been  tractable,  take  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth, 
beam  with  satisfaction,  and  say,  "Ach!  Dolce  can- 
tabile!  pianissimo,  con  espressione !  "  and  the  day 
dreams  would  be  vivid.  But  after  a  hot  lesson,  he 
would  say  "Ach!  "  in  a  different  tone,  scowl  darkly 
at  his  sister  and  exclaim,  "  Fortissimo !  Allegro 
vivace,  con  fuoco  tempestuoso ! "  and  his  visions 
would  seem  to  disappear  in  the  wreaths  of  smoke 
from  his  pipe. 


AT  THE  BLACKSMITH'S  SHOP.  255 

Tibbie  was  Tibbie.  She  could  not  be  the  person 
whom  the  musician  invented  in  his  dreams.  She 
enjoyed  Mr.  Kreutsohn's  talk,  but  she  listened  to  it 
as  if  he  were  telling  fairy  tales.  After  the  mood 
which  he  excited  passed  away,  there  was  very  little 
impression  left.  All  that  about  the  organ  stops,  for 
instance,  while  it  was  serious  to  him,  was  to  her 
only  funny  and  clever  when  it  was  a  few  days  old. 
She  was  clever  too,  and  did  not  tell  him  what  she 
thought  of  it,  because  she  liked  to  sing  with  the 
organ,  and  begged  for  lessons  in  the  church.  She 
adopted  a  little  trick  of  saying,  "I  want  to  hear 
those  voices  in  the  organ."  He  was  touched  at  first, 
when  she  said  that;  gratified  her,  and  out  of  the 
goodness  of  his  heart  played  his  best  for  her,  and 
paid  extra  fees  to  the  sexton  for  blowing  the  bel 
lows.  Tibbie  soon  learned  that,  of  all  the  old  mas 
ters  about  whom  the  musician  talked  to  her,  Bach 
was  the  one  whom  he  most  revered ;  so  she  adopted 
another  little  trick  of  asking  him  to  give  her  a  les 
son  in  the  church  so  that  he  could  play  Bach's  music 
to  her.  But  she  tried  it  once  too  often  and  opened 
his  eyes.  One  day,  when  she  said,  "It  is  true  what 
you  have  taught  me,  — the  greatest  of  all  is  Bock," 
he  had  been  playing  airs  from  an  Italian  opera,  and 
she  had  been  throwing  peanuts  over  the  choir  rail 
ing  at  the  old  woman  who  was  dusting  the  pews. 
Mr.  Kreutsohn  played  the  Italian  airs  that  day  pur 
posely  to  test  her  and  discovered  that  her  liking  for 
the  great  composer  was  all  a  pretense. 

When  Tibbie  found  that  she  had  betrayed  her 
self,  she  laughed  aloud,  —  an  unfeeling,  elfin  laugh 


256  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

which  made  the  echoes  in  the  church  ring,  as  if  ugly 
sprites  and  goblins  were  hiding  among  the  rafters. 

After  that  it  was  desecration  to  play  Bach's  music 
to  her. 

So  Mr.  Kreutsohn  stopped  putting  soul  into  the 
lessons  and  substituted  conscience.  Tibbie  did  not 
know  the  difference.  She  was  growing  tired  of  the 
lessons ;  they  meant  too  much  work.  She  felt  that 
she  could  do  all  that  was  required  without  so  much 
trouble.  To  her  thinking  she  sang  the  scales  all 
right;  what  was  the  use  of  repeating  them?  She 
could  make  a  roomful  of  people  listen  to  her  with 
wonder  and  admiration ;  so  she  could  make  every 
body,  if  they  would  give  her  a  chance.  Why  did  n't 
they  hire  Castle  Garden  for  her,  as  they  did  for 
Jenny  Lind?  She'd  pay  them  back  what  it  cost 
and  more  too. 

This  was  the  attitude  into  which  Tibbie  Mac- 
Clare's  mind  settled  and  seemed  finally  to  fix  itself. 
Never  did  the  most  earnest  missionaries  work  harder 
to  put  light  into  a  darkened  soul  than  did  the  Stan- 
wood  family  and  Mr.  Kreutsohn  to  plant  good  seed 
in  the  heart  of  Tibbie.  She  had  the  family  philan 
thropy  all  to  herself,  too,  for  Havilah  went  to  the 
Mortons'  early  in  March,  little  Diana  remained  at 
Scipio's,  and  Tibbie  was  the  only  sinner  on  the  field 
at  the  Stanwoods'.  During  the  gaps  which  occurred 
in  the  succession  of  unfortunates  or  sinners,  the  va 
cancy  in  the  kitchen  was  filled  by  a  tough,  leathery, 
wrinkled  little  Dutch  saint,  Mrs.  Eab,  called  by 
Elizabeth  and  Richard,  "Grandmother  Eab."  Since 
Havilah's  departure,  she  had  lived  at  the  Stanwoods' 


AT  THE  BLACKSMITH'S  SHOP.  257 

and  contributed  to,  rather  than  drawn  from,  the 
stock  of  philanthropy  which  was  at  Tibbie's  service. 
There  were  times  when  poor  Tibbie  melted;  when, 
alone  with  Mrs.  Stan  wood,  she  cried  pitifully,  and 
vowed  every  kind  of  penitence  and  reform.  After 
these  times  she  went  at  her  music  and  about  her 
work  with  an  energy  which  was  as  much  a  frenzy  as 
was  the  tempest  of  her  wrath  when  it  broke  loose. 
Mrs.  Stan  wood's  faith  in  her  reform  remained  firm. 
"We  must  take  time.  Her  passions  have  had 
twenty  years  to  grow  in ;  she  is  entitled  to  a  few 
in  which  to  conquer  them,"  that  untiring  lady  would 
say.  Once  Mrs.  Stanwood  conceived  the  idea  that 
the  calm  quiet  and  peacefulness  of  Quaker  meeting 
would  soothe  Tibbie  and  pour  balm  upon  her  spirit. 
So  one  Sunday  morning  she  took  her  to  the  Hester 
Street  meeting;.  But  the  rows  of  motionless  and 

O 

rigid  figures  in  front  of  them  (they  were  on  one  of 
the  back  benches)  made  Tibbie  frantic.  The  peo 
ple  seemed  not  even  to  breathe,  everybody  looked 
transfixed.  Tibbie  sat  through  half  an  hour  of 
silence  and  then  gave  a  sudden  scream.  Mrs.  Stan- 
wood  grasped  her  arm  and  whispered,  "  Is  thee  go 
ing  to  do  that  again?  " 

"I  don't  know;  I'm  afeerd  so,"  answered  poor 
Tibbie,  and  Mrs.  Stanwood  marched  her  out. 

When  they  reached  the  corner  of  the  next  street, 
Mrs.  Stanwood  asked,  "What  possessed  thee?" 

"I  think  it  was  the  de'il,"  said  Tibbie  simply, 
and  beginning  to  cry.  "It  seemed  like  the  Judg 
ment,  in  the  stillness  of  death,  an'  the  people  all 
struck  dumb! " 


258  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

When  Mrs.  Stan  wood  told  her  husband  about  it 
and  quoted  Tibbie's  opinion  that  the  devil  had 
prompted  her  to  scream,  Mr.  Stanwood  said,  — 

"I  tell  thee,  Debby,  Genius  understands  him  bet 
ter  than  we  do.  I  advise  thee  to  try  her  with  some 
thing  hotter  than  Friends'  meeting  next  First-day." 

"That  is  what  she  has  grown  up  on;  I  'd  rather 
try  something  else,"  said  Mrs.  Stanwood. 

With  the  latter  part  of  May  came  conventions, 
anniversaries,  and  yearly  meeting  week.  The  Stan- 
woods'  house  filled  up,  emptied,  and  filled  again 
with  guests  to  such  an  extent  that  Dick's  length  be 
came  quite  adjusted  to  the  cramped  limits  of  the 
trundle-bed. 

It  happened  one  morning  when  everybody  was  at 
a  meeting  and  the  children  at  school,  that  a  gentle 
man  called,  and,  when  Tibbie  informed  him  that  no 
body  was  at  home,  asked  if  he  might  leave  a  message 
with  her  for  Mrs.  Stanwood.  He  was  quite  an  ele 
gant  person  in  appearance,  and  Tibbie,  pleased  by 
his  deferential  manner  toward  herself,  graciously 
invited  him  into  the  parlor  and  offered  him  the  op 
portunity  to  write  his  message.  He  neither  wrote 
it  nor  left  it  verbally.  In  fact,  he  entertained  Tib 
bie  for  half  an  hour,  thanked  her  profusely  for  her 
intelligent  and  courteous  answers  to  his  questions, 
and  asked  her  permission  to  call  again.  As  to  the 
message,  he  said  it  was,  after  all,  of  no  consequence, 
and  unless  she  desired  to  do  so,  she  need  not  men 
tion  his  call.  "*He  is  just  the  nicest  and  kindest  of 
all  that  I  ever  saw  eome  to  the  house ;  he  knew  me 
for  a  lady,  an'  there  's\nae  call  for  me  to  say  more 


AT  THE  BLACKSMITH'S  SHOP.  259 

than  he  bid  me,"  thought  Tibbie,  after  he  had  gone. 
He  did  call  again,  twice,  and  saw  nobody  but  Tibbie 
on  either  occasion.  And  there  were  two  or  three 
other  times,  too,  when  he  met  her  on  her  way  home, 
after  her  singing  lessons.  Everybody  in  the  house 
was  busy,  with  the  company  coming  and  going,  and 
meeting-hours  to  keep,  so  that  Tibbie  was  not  both 
ered  with  questions  and  kept  her  own  counsel. 

One  evening,  after  all  the  meetings  and  anniver 
saries  were  over,  the  Morton  girls  and  Grace  Des- 
borough  came  to  tea  at  the  Stan  woods',  and  Eliza 
beth  Stanwood  went  to  dine  at  the  Desboroughs', 
with  Eloise.  It  was  Elizabeth's  first  visit  to  the 
Desborough  mansion,  and  her  feelings  were  divided. 
Grace  was  her  ideal  of  all  that  was  beautiful  and 
lovely;  she  did  not  want  to  leave  her,  and  was 
frightened  at  the  idea  of  not  having  her  protection 
through  the  ordeal  of  dinner  at  the  Desboroughs' 
table.  On  the  other  hand,  Betty  was  to  wear  her 
best  white  frock,  and,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life, 
a  sash. '  That  was  one  compensation  and  there  was 
another  mighty  one.  Grace  had  come  in  the  car 
riage,  and  Elizabeth  was  to  be  driven  back  in  it ! 

"Like  Cinderella,  going  to  the  ball,"  she  whis 
pered  to  Dick,  before  going  out.  "If  thee  was 
going  too,  we  might  play  thee  was  the  Prince,  and 
that  we  were  going  to  the  palace  to  live  forever." 

"Pshaw!"  said  Dick,  peering  through  the  side 
light,  by  the  front  door.  "It  'd  be  lots  more  fun  to 
be  the  coachman !  I  wish  they  'd  let  me  get  up 
there  with  him! " 

Betty  sat  alone  on  the  back  seat  of  the  carriage, 


260  EACIIEL  STANWOOD. 

her  dress  spread  out  as  far  as  possible,  the  ends  of 
her  sash  carefully  drawn  around  into  her  lap.  The 
sash  was  only  a  lutestring  ribbon  two  inches  wide, 
of  so  pale  a  salmon  color  as  to  be  nearly  white,  but 
it  was  a  sash,  and  it  so  occupied  her  mind  that  she 
did  not  see  Dick's  nose  flattened  against  the  narrow 
window-pane,  or  hear  the  good-bys  sent  after  her 
by  Grace  and  Rachel.  Neither  did  she  see,  in  an 
upper  window,  the  only  person  who  really  fitted  into 
the  story  of  Cinderella,  —  Tibbie  MacClare,  who, 
from  the  scowl  upon  her  face,  might  have  been  one 
of  the  cross  sisters. 

"No  matter,"  Tibbie  was  thinking,  "you'll  see 
me  soon  enough  in  my  own  carriage.  May  be  I  '11 
drive  up  to  the  door  and  leave  tickets  for  the  family 
to  go  and  see  me  get  the  honors  that  belong  to  me !  " 

Tibbie's  head  was  as  full  of  visions  as  little 
Betty's  was.  She  fastened  her  collar  at  the  glass, 
studied  the  arrangement  of  her  hair,  touching  and 
coaxing  it  into  the  most  becoming  curves,  tied  on 
her  bonnet,  and  taking  a  bundle  from  the  bed,  went 
softly  down  the  stairs,  and  by  way  of  the  china 
closet,  down  the  piazza  steps  into  the  garden. 

June  had  come,  and  the  garden  was  in  the  height 
of  its  glory.  Grapevines  had  learned  to  run  ram 
pant  there ;  they  straggled  over  the  fences,  covered 
the  arbors,  and  in  the  back  corner  climbed  up  the 
blacksmith's  shop  all  the  way  to  the  eaves.  Roses 
of  many  varieties  nodded  their  heads  on  the  side  of 
the  garden  next  the  lumber  yard,  and  trailed  from 
the  piazza  stairs.  Along  the  piazza  front  climbing 
roses  and  honeysuckles  got  into  a  regular  tangle, 


AT  THE  BLACKSMITH'S  SHOP.  261 

fighting  it  out  between  them  all  the  way,  to  keep 
the  railing  out  of  sight  from  end  to  end.  Mountain 
pink  and  sweet  alyssum  bloomed  red  and  white 
along  the  borders  of  the  flower  beds,  which  scarcely 
vouchsafed  so  much  as  a  peep  at  the  earth  between 
their  gay  and  thrifty  plants.  Where  the  soil  was 
stony,  and  it  was  hard  to  make  flowers  grow,  por- 
tulaca  and  myrtle  spread  themselves.  "Benjamin 
Bump,"  covered  with  cypress,  was  his  own  funereal 
monument,  and  over  the  big  rock  in  the  vegetable 
bed  a  minaret  of  morning-glories  waved  their  bells 
gayly,  of  a  morning,  and  of  an  afternoon  gathered 
themselves  up  into  little  trumpets  which  it  was  fun 
to  blow  into  and  snap.  Just  as  Tibbie  disappeared 
among  some  lilac  bushes,  Rebecca  and  Susy  Morton, 
Grace  Desborough  and  Rachel,  all  fresh  and  lovely 
in  their  light  summer  gowns,  came  out  upon  the 
piazza  and  down  into  the  garden.  Richard,  wind 
ing  his  way  among  them,  and  ducking  under  their 
elbows,  got  ahead  and  went  running,  with  all  his 
might,  down  the  path.  His  scheme  was  to  hide 
somewhere  and  presently  frighten  the  girls  by  jump 
ing  out  at  them.  He  made  straight  for  the  morn 
ing-glory  minaret,  and  darting  in  at  the  opening, 
bumped  against  Tibbie  and  nearly  knocked  her  over. 
Tibbie  staggered,  recovered  herself,  and  broke  out 
in  a  volley  of  words  which  would  have  made  Dick's 
hair  stand  on  end,  if  her  Scotch  dialect  had  not 
made  them  mere  gibberish  to  him. 

"  Ouch !  .  You  bumped  my  head !  /  did  n't  know 
you  were  there,  any  more  than  a  wild  bull!  Don't 
tell  where  I  am! "  was  all  he  said. 


262  EACHEL  STANWOOD. 

Tibbie's  eyes  snapped  and  she  ended  her  volley 
by  rushing  away  to  the  further  end  of  the  garden. 
Dick  peered  through  the  openings  among  the  vines 
to  see  if  the  girls  were  following  him. 

In  a  moment  or  two,  Tibbie  also  was  peering  at 
them,  and  of  all  places,  from  a  queer  little  door  up 
under  the  ridgepole  of  the  blacksmith's  shop!  The 
door  opened  upon  a  wooden  balcony  which  had  once 
served  as  the  landing  for  outside  stairs,  but  the 
latter  had  been  removed,  and  Tibbie  had  evidently 
reached  her  hiding-place  by  means  of  Mr.  Stan- 
wood's  grapevine  ladder. 

The  girls  went  to  gathering  flowers,  at  first  for  the 
tea-table,  but  afterward  they  fell  to  decorating  one 
another  with  them.  They  sat  down  on  some  rustic 
benches  almost  under  the  blacksmith's  balcony,  to 
put  what  they  had  gathered  into  shape.  Grace 
made  a  crown  of  coral  honeysuckle  for  Rachel,  but 
the  effect  was  somehow  disappointing.  Eachel 
laughed  and  said,  "It 's  of  no  use,  girls,  I  'm  a  born 
Quaker,  and  you  can't  make  anything  else  of  me; 
let's  make  a  dryad  of  Susy."  She  gathered  large 
grapevine  leaves  and  plaited  them  into  a  wreath 
which  nearly  covered  Susy's  head.  The  others 
plaited  long  bands  of  the  leaves  and  wound  them 
about  Susy's  trim  little  figure.  The  result  was 
pleasing  and  rather  suggestive  of  a  mischievous 
wood  nymph,  or  sprite  of  some  sort. 

"Pile'  em  on !  "  Susy  said,  spreading  her  arms  out 
and  lending  herself  to  the  whim.  "I'm  more  a 
'born  Quaker'  than  Ray  is,  but  in  my  case  Dame 
Nature  is  glad  of  assistance." 


AT  THE  BLACKSMITH'S  SHOP.  263 

While  they  were  adorning  her  they  fell  to  singing. 

"Oh!"  said  Rebecca  Morton,  presently,  break 
ing  off  from  the  song.  "What  would  I  give  to 
be  in  Tibbie  MacClare's  shoes,  with  her  voice  and 
Mr.  Kreutsolm's  teaching?  How  does  she  get  on, 
Ray?" 

"Better  ask  her  how  he  gets  on, — that's  more 
to  the  point,"  said  Rachel.  The  girls  laughed,  and 
Rachel  added  idly,  "Poor  Tibbie!  " 

"Poor/"  exclaimed  Rebecca.  "I  call  that  a 
paradox.  What  is  she  to  be  pitied  for?  " 

"She  's  such  a  sinner,"  said  Susy  dryly.  "Don't 
talk  about  her,  —  she  gives  me  the  creeps.  We  say 
'  Poor  Uncle  Jo  and  Aunt  Debby  '  at  our  house,  and 
'  Poor  Rachel ; '  she  is  in  luck,  and  undeserved  luck, 
too." 

"Oh,  we  can't  be  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Rachel, 
holding  up  a  cluster  of  roses  from  which  she  was  se 
lecting  the  most  perfect  ones.  "There,  Rebecca, 
fasten  that  in  Sue's  hair,  instead  of  that  dryad's 
wreath,  which  is  immensely  becoming,  but  only  a 
temporary  adornment.  There  's  hope  for  the  sinner 
that  repenteth,  Sue,  and  Tibbie  does  repent." 

Susy  broke  into  a  peal  of  laughter. 

"Repent!  "she  cried.  "I  should  think  she  did, 
—  like  a  house  a-fire !  She  went  at  it  the  other  day 
when  Aunt  Debby  was  cutting  out  my  Infant  Asylum 
wrappers  for  me.  She  didn't  know  I  was  there. 
Phew!  I  prefer  her,  myself,  in  her  original  char 
acter  of  Sinner!  " 

The  girls  laughed  at  Susy's  nonsense. 

From  the   blacksmith's    window  Tibbie    scowled 


264  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

her  darkest  down  at  them.  The  grapevine,  in  a 
snarl  overhead,  trailed  down  long  ends  and  be 
friended  her  concealment. 

"And  if  I  was  black,  you'd  be  calling  me  a 
saint,"  she  muttered  to  herself,  while  she  put  on 
her  gloves. 

Kichard  lost  his  joke ;  for  the  girls  did  not  go  near 
the  morning-glory  vines,  and  the  only  person  whom 
he  startled  was  Grandmother  Rab,  who  came  out 
to  the  vegetable  bed  to  see  where  Tibbie  was  with 
the  lettuce  and  radishes  which  she  had  promised 
to  bring  in  for  supper.  Grandmother  Rab  did  not 
enjoy  being  startled,  and  gave  Dick  a  sharp  piece 
of  her  mind.  He  said,  "Everybody  is  as  cross  as 
tigers!  "  when  he  joined  Rachel  and  she  asked  him 
what  was  the  matter.  Susy  Morton,  to  prove  the 
contrary,  proposed  a  race,  and  that  altered  his 
opinion. 

With  the  girls  running  like  fauns,  disappearing 
under  arbors  and  behind  shrubbery,  coming  out 
from  shadows  into  light  again,  with  laughter  ring 
ing,  with  Dick  racing,  crisscross,  everywhere,  shout 
ing  and  boiling  over  with  fun,  the  garden  was  alive 
with  gayety  and  it  was  a  pity  for  the  tea  bell  to 
ring. 

"Halloo!  Who  left  the  door  open?  "Dick  ex 
claimed,  stopping  at  the  fence  on  the  back  street. 
He  closed  it  with  a  bang  and,  sliding  the  bolt,  shut 
out  the  only  impish,  ugly  spirit  which  had  been 
about. 

"And  thee  was  a  naughty  little  mother  not  to  call 
us,  when  thee  found  Tibbie  was  out,"  Rachel  said, 


AT  THE  BLACKSMITH'S  SHOP.  265 

when  they  went  indoors.  "But  no  matter!  We  '11 
have  a  glorious  revenge  by  and  by,  if  Tibbie  does  n't 
come  back  in  time  to  clear  the  table." 

Tibbie  did  not  return  and  they  had  the  revenge 
they  coveted.  Dick  was  in  clover,  helping  them. 
He  had  a  long  story  to  tell  Betty,  by  and  by,  when 
Mr.  Horace  Desborough  brought  her  home.  Betty 
and  Dick  retired  under  the  big  side-table  in  the 
back  parlor  to  have  it  out  together.  Betty  began,  — 

"Oh,  Dick!  Thee  and  I  are  to  go  riding  with 
Mr.  Desborough  some  day,  in  that  carriage  he  took 
to  Uncle  Scipio's!  He  's  going  to  coax  sister  Ra 
chel  to  go  too,  and  thee  and  I  are  to  have  the  back 
seat  all  by  ourselves,  except  my  dolls.  He  says  I 
can  take  as  many  dolls  as  I  want  to,  and  I  think  a 
good  many  ought  to  go,  because  they  never  had  a 
chance  before,  and" 

"If  Anna  Maria  Louisa  Lorrimer  goes,  I  won't," 
said  Dick,  immediately  making  the  doll  question 
complicated. 

Anna  Maria,  etc.,  was  an  ancient  doll,  three  feet 
long,  with  leg-o' -mutton  sleeves,  scant  petticoats, 
and  a  poke  bonnet.  Dick  abhorred  her. 

Betty  deftly  withdrew  from  the  discussion  of  her 
inanimate  family  and  mentioned  the  chances  of  Mr. 
Desborough 's  letting  Dick  sit  in  front  and  drive 
part  of  the  way.  This  was  exciting,  and  brought 
down  a  shower  of  questions  as  to  Betty's  visit.  She 
gave  a  detailed  and  glorified  account  of  everything. 
According  to  her,  the  splendor  of  the  house  far  ex 
ceeded  that  of  the  Riverstons. 

"And  they  have  settled  beds  for  everybody!  "  she 
said,  reaching  the  climax  of  luxury. 


266  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

In  the  back  parlor  Mrs.  Stanwood  knitted  at  a 
blue  yarn  sock,  while  her  husband  and  Horace  Gree- 
ley,  who  was  making  an  evening  call,  discussed  the 
relative  efficacy  of  immediate  or  gradual  emancipa 
tion.  In  the  front  room  Eachel  sat  at  the  piano 
playing  to  the  young  people.  But  Rebecca  Mor 
ton  and  Horace  Desborough  were  the  only  ones 
who  listened.  Rebecca  delighted  in  Rachel's  music, 
although  it  stirred  up  within  her  unsatisfied  long 
ings.  Things  seemed  to  her  strangely  parceled  out. 
Why  should  Tibbie  MacClare  be  gifted  with  a  voice 
for  singing,  blessed  with  the  opportunity  for  cul 
tivating  it,  and  apparently  denied  an  understand 
ing  of  her  advantages?  And  why  should  she,  Re 
becca  Morton,  be  given  a  soul  that  hungered  for 
music  and  be  denied  every  opportunity  to  satisfy 
it?  Why  need  the  rigid  Quaker  prejudices  against 
it  have  been  planted  so  firmly  as  they  were  in  the 
minds  of  her  parents?  Why  could  not  she  have 
what  Tibbie  was,  to  all  appearances,  throwing  away  ? 
It  was  pretty  hard  for  Rebecca  to  be  a  good  Quaker. 

Horace  Desborough  turned  the  leaves  of  Rachel's 
music  in  answer  to  little  signals  which  she  gave 
him.  The  signals  were  not  always  necessary,  but 
he  was  not  bound  to  tell  her  that,  and  waited  for 
every  one. 

His  sister  and  William  Hedges  were  not  listening 
to  a  single  note  that  Rachel  played.  They  were 
talking  together  in  low  tones,  so  intent  and  happy 
that  they  did  not  know  anything  about  what  was 
going  on  at  the  piano. 

Susy  Morton  did  not  know  one  note  from  another, 


AT  THE  BLACKSMITH'S  SHOP.  267 

and  could  not  sing  the  simplest  tune  straight.  It 
was  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  for  her  to  be  a 
good  Quaker;  she  looked  at  Rebecca's  wistful  ex 
pression  and  wished  again,  as  she  often  did,  that  she 
could  do  the  sectarianism  for  both.  She  sat  on  a 
low,  rush-bottomed  chair,  in  the  shadow  of  an  old- 
fashioned,  high  book-case,  and  commented  to  herself. 
"Father  and  mother  will  have  to  let  up  on  thee, 
Beck,  or  something '11  happen,"  she  thought,  and 
then  made  a  short  study  of  Horace  Desborough. 
Looking  from  him  to  Rachel,  over  at  William 
Hedges  and  Grace,  back  and  forth  a  few  times, 
Susy's  brown  eyes  seemed  to  awaken  with  thoughts 
new-born  and  interesting.  "Hm!  "  she  thought,  "I 
never  thought  of  you  stepping  in,  milord !  Thought 
all  the  others  were  fools  to  leave  the  field  to  The 
Riverston.  Thought  lie  had  it  to  himself!  Was 
getting  mad  because  nobody  came  to  the  rescue,  and 
wondered  how  Will  Hedges  could  stand  by  and  see 
it."  She  looked  over  at  Will.  He  was  writing; 

o 

something  on  a  fold  of  Grace's  fan.  Grace  was 
bending  toward  him,  reading  as  he  wrote ;  he  passed 
the  fan  and  pencil  to  her  and  she  wrote  something 
upon  another  fold.  Susy  watched  them  scribbling, 
first  one  and  then  the  other,  several  times. 

"Playing  'Consequences'?"  she  wondered. 
"Hope  the  fan '11  hold  out.  I'd  offer  mine  to 
piece  out  with,  if  I  dared.  William  Hedges,  I  in 
tended  thee  for  Rachel.  I  didn't  think  you  had 
sense  enough."  Her  eyes  were  back  upon  Hor 
ace.  "Guess  you  're  coming  out  of  Egypt  into  the 
light  of  something  besides  abolitionism!  " 


268  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

Rachel  finished  a  short  prelude  of  Bach's  and 
broke  into  a  little  laugh  with  the  last  note.  "It 
is  so  happy!  "  she  said,  looking  up  at  Horace,  with 
the  flush  of  enthusiasm.  "There  isn't  a  note  in 
it,  from  beginning  to  end,  which  isn't  pure,  light- 
hearted  joy.  Listen!  This"  —playing  little  pas 
sages  with  either  hand  while  she  pointed  to  the  music 
with  the  other,  —  "and  this, — and  this.  Don't 
you  see?  You  can't  help  it,  — it  throws  the  joy  at 
you  and  you  must  catch  it  and  laugh  back.  Does  n't 
it  make  you  feel  like  answering  back?" 

"Yes,"  said  Horace,  smiling  down  upon  her. 
"If  I  could  throw  back  as  much  joy  as  it  gives  me, 
I  would  be  —  will  you  play  it  again?  " 

"Well,  well!"  thought  Susy,  "You  can  finish 
that  speech  some  other  time."  She  took  a  prolonged 
look  at  the  other  couple  and  then,  bending  one  of 
scrutiny  upon  Horace,  she  summed  up  her  reflec 
tions  with  the  thought,  — 

"  If  everybody  is  satisfied,  I  suppose  I  ought  not 
to  grudge  Will  to  Grace.  And,  after  all,  there  is 
something  about  you,  milord,  that  makes  me  think 
you '11  do." 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

ANOTHER   DIFFICULTY   FOR   THE   DESBOROUGHS. 

MRS.  DESBOROUGH  was  not  so  comfortable  in  her 
family  pew  as  she  used  to  be.  Horace  had  be 
come  very  irregular  in  his  attendance  at  church,  and 
her  husband  seemed  to  be  absorbed  in  disturbing 
thoughts,  not  at  all  in  harmony  with  the  service. 
His  responses  were  not  always  fitting.  Mrs.  Des- 
borough  changed  Eloise's  seat  because  of  her  saying 
one  day,  as  they  were  coming  out  of  church,  — 

"Papa,  you  kept  saying,  'We  beseech  thee  to 
hear  us,  good  Lord, '  instead  of  '  Good  Lord,  deliver 
us!'" 

Eloise's  occupation  at  church  was  to  try  to  catch 
somebody  tripping  in  the  service. 

Grace  was  never  absent  from  her  seat  and  was 
always  devout,  but  her  mother  looked  across  Elo- 
ise  at  her  with  anxiety,  and  with  a  sense  that,  men 
tally,  the  girl  was  drifting  away  from  her.  Look 
ing  along  the  pew  now,  Eloise  was  the  only  one  who 
did  not  worry  Mrs.  Desborough.  It  was  painfully 
comfortable  to  have  Horace  away ;  he  and  his  father 
were  so  at  variance.  Why  couldn't  young  people 
be  reasonable  ?  The  poor  lady  had  hard  times  keep 
ing  her  own  mind  upon  the  service.  Clever  as  she 
was,  she  was  too  much  out  of  sympathy  with  them 


270  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

to  reach  far  along  the  principles  which  governed 
either  her  husband  or  children.  She  did  not  see 
why  they  could  not  all  think  what  they  pleased  and 
forego  action. 

"For  instance,"  she  said  one  morning  when  she 
was  planning  some  alterations  to  be  made  in  one  of 
Grace's  gowns,  "the  present  fashion  in  dress  is  not 
altogether  convenient  to  walk  in.  I  would  greatly 
prefer,  for  my  own  comfort,  not  to  have  my  gowns 
touch  the  ground,  but  is  that  any  reason  why  I 
should  wear  a  bloomer  costume  ?  Suppose  my  prin 
ciples  should  lead  me  to  join  that  community  over 
in  Jersey,  —  The  Phalanx,  I  think  they  call  it,  — 
and  dress  as  they  do !  " 

Grace,  standing  before  her  mother's  long  mirror, 
trying  on  her  dress,  cried  out,  laughing  at  the  ab 
surd  suggestion. 

"Yes,  you  exclaim  at  the  very  idea  of  such  a 
thing,"  said  her  mother,  "and  yet  you  don't  see  the 
application  to  what  you  and  Horace  are  doing." 

Grace  certainly  did  not,  but  she  was  silent.  Her 
mother  was  no  more  illogical  than  usual,  and  under 
the  delusion  that  she  had  made  a  strong  point,  went 
on,  — 

"Why  can't  you  be  content  to  disapprove  of 
slavery  in  the  same  way  that  I  disapprove  of  the 
fashions?  I  don't  see,  just  because  you  think  the 
institution  wrong,  why  you  need  feel  it  your  duty  to 
join  the  mob." 

"Oh,  mamma!"  cried  Grace  again.  "Horace 
and  I  haven't  joined  any  mob!  I  don't  know  what 
you  mean.  The  abolitionists  don't  mob,  —  it  is  the 
other  side  which  does  that  sort  of  thing." 


ANOTHER  DIFFICULTY.  271 

"They  do  just  the  same  thing, — they  attract 
mobs,"  Mrs.  Desborough  insisted  dogmatically. 
"  Without  abolitionists,  there  would  be  110  mob,  and 
they  are  responsible.  You  and  Horace  are  making 
great  mistakes,  too,  in  the  same  direction ;  you  are 
attracting  to  the  house  abolitionists  as  your  friends. 
You  are  fastening  the  name  Abolitionist  to  your 
own  and  your  father's  name,  and  are  making  your 
selves  talked  about." 

"Well,  mamma  dear,"  said  Grace,  sitting  down 
in  a  hopeless  little  way  on  the  side  of  a  chair  and 
putting  her  hand  on  the  back  of  it.  "I  don't  know 
what  we  can  do  about  it.  I  had  to  do  what  I  did, 
and  Horace  has  got  to  do  what  he  is  doing.  You 
don't  want  him  to  stay  with  Gray  thorn  &  Ben- 
derly  if  the  work  they  give  him  to  do  is  against 
his  principles,  do  you?" 

"He  was  with  them  to  do  the-e-ir  work,  not  his, 
and  his  duty  was  to  regulate  his  actions  by  the-e-ir 
principles.  He  was  not  responsible  for  their  prin 
ciples,  in  a-a-ny  way  whatever.  Your  father  says, 
Grace,  that  Horace,  by  breaking  with  that  firm, 
has  stepped  right  off  a  high  round  of  the  ladder,  on 
to  the  very  ground!  " 

Mrs.  Desborough  had  a  way  of  accompanying  the 
punctuations  of  her  chin  with  a  drawl  on  her  em 
phatic  words,  and  of  closing  her  eyes  when  her  feel 
ings  were  most  intense.  Her  eyes  remained  shut 
while  she  said :  "  Horace  has  made  the  mistake  of 
his  life ;  he  has  thrown  away  his  grandest  opportun 
ity  and  is  forced  to  begin  again  at  the  very  begin 
ning,  with  nothing  and  nobody  to  help  him ! " 


272  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

Grace  waited  a  moment  and  then  said  softly,  as 
if  she  were  telling  the  reflection  of  herself  in  the 
glass,  rather  than  her  mother:  "Yes,  there  is  some 
body  to  help  Horace." 

"Who?"  asked  her  mother,  snapping  her  eyes 
open. 

"Mr.  Hedges  —  his  friend,  Mr.  William  Hedges," 
said  Grace,  startled  to  see  in  the  glass  how  her 
color  flashed.  Then  with  a  sudden  movement 
toward  her  mother,  she  exclaimed,  — 

"Wait,  mamma  dear,  and  I  will  tell  you  all  about 
it,  because  I  know  it  will  be  a  comfort  to  you.  My 
dress  is  all  right  now,  isn't  it?  May  I  take  it  off? 
I  know  it  will  be  lovely,  whatever  way  you  fix  it, 
mamma.  There !"  laying  the  dress  she  had  taken 
off  upon  the  bed,  "I  didn't  disturb  a  single  one  of 
the  pins,  and  that  is  quite  wonderful  for  me;  isn't 
it?" 

It  was  so  much  easier  to  talk  while  she  was  busy 
that  Grace  made  the  most  of  all  the  details  of  restor 
ing  the  sewing  paraphernalia  to  her  mother's  work- 
basket  and  boxes;  of  putting  on  again  her  dainty 
dressing-gown  with  great  exactness.  While  she  was 
trying  ribbons  and  patting  bows  into  shape,  she 
said:  "You  know  Mr.  Hedges  set  up  an  office  for 
himself  a  year  ago,  and  they  say  he  is  making  a 
reputation  very  fast  indeed;  as  a  pleader,  I  believe. 
They  say  he  has  a  wonderfully  clear  and  just  way  of 
making  out  a  case.  And  he  told  me,  the  other  even 
ing  at  Rachel's,  that  it  will  help  his  prospects  very 
much  to  have  Horace  share  his  office,  and  that  he 
and  Horace  have  agreed  to  go  into  partnership. 


ANOTHER  DIFFICULTY.  273 

They  are  so  fond  of  each  other  and  understand  each 
other  so  well  that  they  are  sure  to  get  on.  Are  n't 
you  glad  that  Horace  has  such  a  noble  friend  to 
standby  him?" 

Grace  was  forgetting  herself.  The  color  had 
come  into  her  cheeks  to  stay,  her  eyes  were  shining, 
and  all  the  light  and  animation  which  her  mother 
had  missed  and  longed  for  were  back  in  her  face 
again.  Mrs.  Desborough  watched  her  and  listened, 
a  new  light  dawning  more  clearly  upon  her  mind 
with  every  sentence.  Every  tone  of  Grace's  voice 
betrayed  her,  as  she  went  on :  — 

"Mr.  Hedges  has  a  case  all  ready  to  offer  Hor 
ace,  too.  But  you  must  not  speak  of  it,  because  it 
is  to  be  a  surprise.  You  see,  I  am  telling  you  se 
crets,  mamma,  but  I  can't  help  it  because  I  know 
they  will  be  such  a  comfort  to  you.  But  you  need 
not  keep  them  long  —  only  until  to-morrow  night. 
The  partnership  is  to  begin  to-morrow.  And  Mr. 
Hedges  has  had  a  beautiful  little  sign  made  with 
"Hedges  and  Desborough,  Attorneys  at  Law "  on 
it.  Horace  does  not  know  that,  either.  So  you 
see,  mamma  dear,  he  has  somebody  to  help  him, 
not  only  to  start  up  the  ladder  again,  but  to  reach  a 
higher  place  than  ever.  And  who  is  there  in  all  the 
world  who  would  be  half  so  true  and  noble  a  friend 
to  Horace  as  he  will  be?  If  you  and  papa  knew 
him  as  I  do,  you  would  not  be  cast  down,  but  you 
would  be  proud  of  Horace  because  he  has  won  such 
a  friend.  You  would  believe,  as  I  do,  that  he  has 
won  a  thousand  times  more  than  he  has  lost.  Oh, 
if  /  were  in  Horace's  place,  with  him  to  be  my 


274  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

friend,  I  would  not  be  afraid  of  anything  in  all  the 
world!" 

"Gracie!"  cried  Mrs.  Desborough  softly,  and 
the  name  was  like  a  little  cry  of  pain  as  she  held  up 
her  arms  from  the  low  chair  upon  which  she  sat. 
Grace  knelt  down  before  it  and  folded  her  arms 
around  her  mother.  She  mistook  the  little  cry  and 
by  no  means  understood.  She  thought  her  mother's 
tears  were  because  her  heart  was  too  full  of  gratitude 
to  William  Hedges.  She  caressed  her,  and  said  in 
happy  little  sentences:  "I  knew  you  would  be  glad, 
dear  mamma,  and  I  'm  so  glad  I  told  you !  You  '11 
tell  papa  too,  won't  you?  It  will  be  such  a  relief  to 
him,  and  Mr.  Hedges  will  not  mind,  if  only  you 
keep  from  Horace  his  surprise  about  the  case  and 
the  little  sign.  Will  you  tell  papa  to  do  that 
too?" 

"Yes,  darling,"  said  her  mother,  forcing  herself 
to  speak  calmly.  She  felt  that  her  own  wisdom 
was  not  enough  to  prompt  her  what  to  say.  She 
wanted  her  husband's  help.  So  she  only  kissed  her 
daughter  again  and  said,  "You  had  better  go  now, 
dear,  and  leave  me  to  dress." 

Grace,  shut  in  her  own  room,  went  to  her  writing- 
desk  and  opened  a  little  drawer  in  it.  It  contained 
nothing  but  a  bunch  of  red  berries,  a  bow  of  ribbon, 
and  that  fan  which  was  covered  with  Will  Hedges' 
scribbling,  but  it  was  Grace's  holy  of  holies.  She 
played  with  the  fan  and  thought  she  ought  to  have 
told  her  mother  of  those  other  things  Mr.  Hedges 
had  said  to  her  under  cover  of  Rachel's  music. 
The  scribbles  on  the  fan  were  nothing  but  dates  and 


ANOTHER  DIFFICULTY.  275 

initials,  but  they  meant  a  history.  Grace  read 
them  in  regular  order :  — 

"October  27th,  West  — th  Street."  That  was 
when  Will  and  she  had  first  met,  at  the  Stan  woods' 
party.  It  meant  the  talk  they  had  under  the  More- 
land  pictures.  Her  thoughts  had  never  been  worth 
anything  until  then. 

"November  9th,  Fourteenth  Street."  That  was 
at  the  Mortons',  where  the  sewing-circle  met.  "No 
vember  21st,  14  Henry  Street."  The  Bixbys  had 
the  sewing-circle  that  afternoon.  The  gentlemen 
came  after  tea,  and  they  played  games  and  sang. 

"December  14th,  15th,  16th,  Nelson  Hall." 
Those  meant  that  lifetime  at  the  fair:  the  picnic 
meals  all  together,  the  violets  Mr.  Hedges  bought 
for  Miss  Tabitha  Snow,  the  moss  basket  he  was  so 
careful  and  particular  about.  And  Havilah,  —  his 
face  when  he  leaned  over  her  and  whispered,  "You 
have  saved  her!"  Grace  glanced  from  the  fan  to 
the  red  berries  and  bow  of  ribbon  and  smiled  a 
sort  of  dear  amusement  at  them.  He  was  so  funny 
about  the  companion  bow  to  this  one,  when  he 
begged  for  it  "to  remember  her  cloak  by."  That 
was  so  perfectly  ridiculous  —  what  he  said  about 
the  "merest  ravelings  of  its  ribbons  being  worth 
more  than  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's  whole  cloak,  even 
with  the  original  mud  and  very  print  of  Queen 
Elizabeth's  foot  upon  it!  " 

"January  26th,  Scipio  and  Margaret  Franklin." 
Yes,  that  took  in  the  wedding  at  Mr.  Stanwood's, 
and  the  house  —  no,  he  was  not  at  the  house-warm 
ing.  The  dates  for  March  and  April  were  all  when 


276  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

he  came  to  see  Horace  and  stopped  downstairs  for 
little  calls.  And  in  May  it  was  the  same  thing. 
Those  May  parties  away  up-town  and  across  the 
river  never  happened ;  it  was  a  pity  they  had  to  be 
given  up.  And  last  of  all,  here  was  the  tea  the 
other  night  at  Rachel's  and  all  that  he  told  her 
about  the  new  firm,  Hedges  &  Desborough,  and  how 
hard  he  was  going  to  work  to  make  her  think  well 
of  him,  and  how  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  say  all 
that  he  wanted  to  until  he  had  made  more  of  a  name 
for  himself.  That  was  the  part  Grace  thought  her 
mother  ought  to  know.  She  had  told  all  about  how 
much  Mr.  Hedges  cared  for  Horace,  but  she  had 
never  said  a  word  about  how  much  he  cared  for  her ! 
"Poor  mamma!"  she  thought.  "We  have  done 
nothing  of  late,  Horace  and  I,  but  tell  her  startling 
things;  what  will  she  do,  if  we  tell  her  any  more? 
It  seems  as  if  the  house  was  full  of  volcanoes  and 
they  must  break  out  sometime!  If  I  were  only 
strong,  like  Rachel!  But  I  'm  nothing  but  a  weak, 
good-for-nothing  coward,  and  I  don't  see  what  good 
I  am  or  what  anybody  wants  of  me!  " 

But,  with  the  depressing  thought,  she  remembered 
how  very  much  somebody  wanted  of  her,  and  thought 
how  much  more  comfortable  she  would  be  if  her 
mother  knew  all  about  it.  She  was  entirely  inno 
cent  of  the  fact  that  she  had  as  good  as  told  her 
mother  all  there  was  to  tell.  There  was  no  need 
whatever  of  a  showing  for  Will  Hedges'  side  of  the 
story.  There  was  no  end  to  the  story  which  this 
last  date  of  the  fan  represented. 

Grace  might  have  read  her  fan  for  the  next  hour, 
if  the  maid  had  not  come  to  announce  dinner. 


ANOTHER  DIFFICULTY.  277 

Grace  would  have  liked  some  of  her  old  talks  with 
her  brother  at  this  time,  but  his  attitude  in  the 
family  made  him  powerless  to  help  her  just  now. 
His  influence  with  his  father  and  mother  was  in 
exile ;  their  differences  would  have  to  be  adjusted  or 
lived  down  before  it  could  be  recalled.  Grace  was 
conscious  of  this,  and  did  not  want  to  add  to  his  wor 
ries  by  her  confidences.  Since  their  sympathy  with 
each  other  on  the  question  of  slavery  had  been 
openly  avowed,  they  had  an  uncomfortable  feeling 
when  they  happened  to  be  alone  together,  lest  it 
might  seem  as  if  they  set  themselves  apart  from  the 
family  interests.  So  they  had  stopped  their  confi 
dences,  and,  by  tacit  agreement,  kept  themselves  in 
the  family  circle  as  much  as  possible.  Horace  en 
couraged  Eloise  to  watch  for  him  of  an  afternoon, 
when  he  came  home,  to  rifle  his  pockets  for  childish 
treasures,  and  to  report  to  him  what  interested  her 
particularly.  At  the  table  he  made  much  use  of  his 
nickname  for  her  of  "Miss  Budget,"  rallied  her  for 
news  of  the  day,  and,  by  chaffing  with  her,  avoided 
snags  in  general  conversation.  His  treatment  of 
her  was  gratifying  to  them  all;  his  mother  thought 
it  an  evidence  of  growing  sympathy  between  them ; 
his  father  seized  upon  anything  which  helped  them 
avoid  serious  talk,  and  Grace  was  glad  to  have 
Eloise 's  scrutiny  diverted  from  herself.  She  looked 
across  the  table  at  Horace  and  envied  him  these 
clays.  He,  at  least,  had  made  everybody  understand 
exactly  where  he  stood.  He  had  thrown  his  bomb 
shell  and  was  braving  nobly  the  answering  shots. 
Grace  wished  she  could  do  that.  But  even  to  think 
of  it  made  her  heart  sink. 


278  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

In  her  acknowledgment  of  her  anti-slavery  prin 
ciples,  she  had  exhausted  her  power  to  stem  the  cur 
rent  of  opposition,  and  she  had  no  courage  left  to 
tell  her  parents  about  Will  and  how  he  was  going  to 
earn  the  right  to  claim  her.  She  did  not  know  that 
she  had  revealed  all  they  needed  to  know,  or  that 
they  had  a  bombshell  preparing  for  her. 

In  the  light  of  Grace's  self -betrayal  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Desborough  held  a  series  of  consultations,  and,  by 
the  end  of  the  next  fortnight,  announced  the  result. 
They  had  decided  upon  an  elaborate  plan  of  travel 
in  Europe,  which  would  keep  them  moving  from 
place  to  place  through  the  summer  and  find  them 
established  for  the  following  winter  in  Paris.  Of 
course  Horace  would  not  accompany  them,  and  the 
house  in  New  York  would  be  closed  during  their 
absence.  They  had  often  talked  of  spending  a  year 
abroad  and  concluded  that  now  was  the  time  for  it. 

Grace  thought  her  heart  was  going  to  be  broken. 
To  her  the  plan  meant  exile  from  everything  which 
counted  for  happiness.  She  made  her  feeble  at 
tempts  at  resistance  and  pleadings  to  have  the  plan 
given  up  or  modified,  but  without  success. 

One  morning,  after  Horace  had  gone  to  his  office, 
Eloise  had  started  for  school,  and  her  parents  were 
lingering  at  the  breakfast  table,  the  poor  child  made 
her  confession.  She  did  it  in  her  trembling  fash 
ion,  with  a  sinking  heart,  but  she  made  it  all,  with 
out  reserve.  It  only  brought  her  more  misery. 
Her  father  was  angry  because  Will  had  spoken  to 
her  at  all,  called  him  dishonorable,  and  said  other 
hard  things  of  him. 


ANOTHER  DIFFICULTY.  279 

"That  alone,"  he  declared,  "fixes  my  resolution 
to  postpone  our  return  as  long  as  possible.  Or,  at 
least,  to  make  it  dependent  upon  an  entire  change 
of  either  your  feeling  or  his.  His  own  social  popu 
larity  makes  it  quite  possible,  —  even  probable,  — 
that  his  feeling  will  alter.  No,  Grace ;  your  reasons 
for  not  going  demand  that  we  adhere  to  our  plan, 
only  hastening  our  departure.  But  I  want  to  make 
clear  to  you  this  fact :  that  your  mother  and  I  gave 
way  to  you  concerning  your  anti-slavery  principles. 
We  did  not  agree  with  you,  but  we  yielded  our  judg 
ment  and  allowed  you  an  independent  course.  Now 
it  is  your  turn  to  yield  and  our  right  to  claim  your 
concurrence  in  the  plans  we  have  made  for  your  wel 
fare.  We  expect  this  of  you,  whether  you  are  blind 
or  not  to  the  wisdom  of  it." 

But  with  those  bitter  references  to  Will  and  that 
speech  about  his  popularity,  whatever  show  of  jus 
tice  her  father's  argument  had,  vanished  like  mist 
from  Grace's  reason.  A  set  look,  not  at  all  like 
yielding,  came  into  her  face. 

"If  I  must,  I  can  go  with  you,  papa,"  she  said 
coldly.  "But  I  think  you  could  not  stand  face  to 
face  with  Mr.  Hedges  and  say  those  things  of  him." 

"I  will  certainly  give  him  an  opportunity  to  ex 
plain  himself,  but  it  will  be  difficult  for  him  to  alter 
my  opinion  of  the  course  he  has  taken,"  Mr.  Des- 
borough  said  stiffly.  "I  have  nothing  more  to  say, 
Grace,"  he  added,  taking  up  his  newspaper  and 
closing  the  interview. 

"This  is  the  only  way  to  treat  the  matter  —  with 
decision,"  he  said,  after  Grace  had  left  the  room, 


280  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

looking  around  the  edge  of  the  paper  at  his  wife. 
"We  were  too  lenient  about  all  that  fair  business, 
and  it  will  be  necessary  to  take  an  opposite  course 
now,  for  a  time.  A  few  months  of  sight-seeing  and 
travel  will  clear  her  brain  and  make  her  forget  that 
fellow.  Confound  him !  If  Horace  chooses  to  set 
up  a  shop  with  him,  we  can't  help  ourselves,  but  I 
wont  give  up  Grace.  We  will  draw  the  line  with 
Horace.  One  reformer  in  the  family  is  all  we  can 
stand.  I  shall  give  this  Hedges  to  understand  that 
there  isn't  the  slightest  hope  for  him.  We  '11  get 
Grace  on  the  other  side  of  the  water  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  give  her  other  things  to  think  about. 
Marie,  we  must  indulge  her  in  other  directions. 
Buy  her  everything  she  wants.  Cultivate  her  taste 
in  dress!  Give  her  whatever  she  fancies!  " 

"There  is  just  the  point,"  said  his  wife,  in  a 
dejected  tone.  "To  find  the  'other  directions'! 
Dress?  I  don't  know  anything  in  the  direction  of 
clothes  to  interest  Grace,  except  a  Quaker  uniform. 
It  would  not  take  much,  Robert,  to  make  her  fancy 
adopting  that,  coal-scuttle  bonnet  and  all.  If  you  'd 
like  to  see  her  dressed  like  that  Mrs.  Morton  who 
called  upon  me,  I  can  interest  her  in  clothes,  but  I 
don't  know  any  other  way  to  do  it." 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

IN   THE   OFFICE   OF  THE   NEW   FIKM. 

WHEN  Mr.  Desborough  wrote  his  short  demand 
for  a  personal  interview  with  Mr.  William  Hedges, 
he  did  not  give  the  place  of  meeting  quite  enough 
consideration.  "I  can't  invite  him  to  come  to  me 
to  be  raked  over  the  coals,  so  I  '11  have  to  go  to 
him,"  was  his  only  thought,  as  he  wrote  a  hasty 
note  asking  for  an  appointment  at  Will's  office. 
On  the  following  morning,  when  he  reached  the 
place,  it  was  rather  unpleasant  to  discover  it  by 
means  of  that  neat  little  sign  of  which  Grace  had 
told  her  mother.  "Hedges  &  Desborough  "  was  not 
a  pleasing  combination  to  Horace's  father.  It  was 
not  quite  so  fitting,  after  all,  to  do  his  raking  over 
the  coals  in  the  place  where  Horace  had  found  a 
new  opening.  Mr.  Desborough  could  not  shirk  the 
thought,  "When  his  father  fails  him,  this  Hedges 
takes  him  up."  With  the  sign  to  suggest  this  to 
him,  his  errand  was  more  difficult  than  he  had  an 
ticipated. 

"All  the  same,  duty  is  duty,"  he  thought,  while 
Mr.  Hedges  was  inviting  him  into  his  private  office 
and  giving  him  a  chair.  William's  manner  was 
that  of  one  gentleman  offering  courtesy  to  another, 
not  at  all  that  of  one  who  expected  to  be  found 


282  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

fault  with.     Mr.  Desborough  began,  "I  am  here  in 
the  interest  of  my  daughter,  Mr.  Hedges." 

"I  am  glad  of  that,  Mr.  Desborough, "  said  Will. 
"I  hope  I  can  show  you  that  my  interest  in  her 
is"  — 

"You  cannot  show  me  that  it  is  anything  but  an 
injury  to  her,  sir,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Desborough,  with 
decision.  "I  came  to  request  that  you  will  with 
draw  it  from  her  altogether,  —  altogether.  She  has 
told  her  mother  and  me  of  your  most  ill-judged 
interview  with  her  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Stan  wood. 
No  such  words  should  have  been  spoken  by  you,  Mr. 
Hedges;  you  should  have  sought  an  interview  with 
me,  sir,  —  with  me  !  Your  imprudence  has  caused 
my  daughter  much  distress,  and  if  you  value  her 
peace  of  mind,  you  will  retract  what  you  said  to 
her,  —  retract  all  you  have  said  to  her  on  the  sub 
ject  of  —  of  the  interest  you  profess  to  have  in  her." 
Mr.  Desborough  waited  for  Will  to  answer,  but  he 
did  not  speak. 

"If  you  refuse" — began  Mr.  Desborough  and 
waited  again. 

"I  do  refuse,"  said  Will,  not  moving,  and  quietly 
meeting  Mr.  Desborough' s  eyes. 

"  Then  let  me  tell  you  that  your  refusal  will  bring 
about  results  which  you  will  deplore  and  which  you 
cannot,  for  a  moment,  anticipate,"  said  Mr.  Des 
borough  hotly,  and,  fairly  launched  upon  his  theme, 
he  poured  out  upon  Will  his  anger  and  reproaches 
in  full  force.  He  went  back  to  the  time  of  the  fair 
and  regretted,  at  length,  his  own  weakness  in  yielding 
to  his  daughter's  wishes.  Instead  of  satisfying  her, 


IN  THE  OFFICE  OF  THE  NEW  FIRM.       283 

it  had  created  new  and  dangerous  channels  for  her 
unwholesome  enthusiasm.  It  was  her  anti-slavery 
furor  which  had  brought  discord  and  disorganization 
into  the  family.  "Look  at  this,  sir!  Look  at 
this!  "  he  exclaimed  with  a  wave  of  his  arm.  "The 
very  sign  upon  your  door  proclaims  the  division  in 
my  family.  Its  interests  are  irrevocably  divided. 
My  son  has  thrown  away  the  opportunity  of  his  life, 
and  now,  now,  Mr.  Hedges,  you  propose  to  destroy 
the  future  I  had  planned  for  my  daughter!  " 

Will,  sitting  there,  motionless  and  silent,  with 
fixed  attention  to  every  word,  left  the  field  abso 
lutely  to  Mr.  Desborough.  Had  that  gentleman 
met  his  steady,  resolute  eyes,  he  might  have  felt 
weaker  in  his  arguments,  but  he  did  not  look  at 
Will  and  was  misled  by  his  silence.  He  thought 
his  own  position  was  so  clearly  right  that  there  was 
no  answer  for  Will  to  make.  He  thought  he  was 

O 

going  to  manage  him  without  any  difficulty.  He  had 
not  meant  to  refer  to  Horace.  He  was  not  averse 
to  Horace's  going  into  partnership  with  Mr.  Hedges. 
The  name  of  Hedges  was  respected  in  business  cir 
cles  and  the  sacred  one  of  Desborough  was  not  going 
to  be  injured  by  it.  He  certainly  wanted  somebody 
to  extend  a  helping  hand  to  his  son,  and,  now  that 
this  European  plan  had  come  up,  it  was  comfortable 
to  feel  that  Horace  would  not  be  left  in  the  lurch. 
Of  course  he  could  not  approve  of  the  partnership. 
But  he  could  talk  lightly  of  it.  He  had  said  to  Mr. 
Graythorn,  "Yes,  my  son  has  gone  into  partnership 
with  that  young  Hedges,  and,  while  I  don't  like  it, 
I  don't  wholly  object.  Hedges  has  n't  anything  in 


284  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

him  but  anti-slavery  gunpowder,  but  Horace  has  a 
liking  for  that  sort  of  thing  just  now,  and  may  be  a 
few  explosions  are  what  he  needs  for  the  restoration 
of  his  common  sense."  So,  having  taken  this  atti 
tude,  he  had  meant  to  leave  out  altogether,  on  the 
present  occasion,  any  reference  to  the  young  firm  of 
Hedges  &  Desborough,  but  the  making  out  of  his 
case  had  brought  it  in  naturally,  and  now  he  coaxed 
up  all  the  points  he  could  think  of  in  connection 
with  it.  "Yes,  he  would  show  this  hot-blooded 
young  fellow  just  what  he  was  doing;  here  was  the 
opportunity,  and  it  was  no  more  than  his  duty." 
He  expected  resentment  and  would  rather  have  pre 
ferred  it.  But  the  young  man  had  nothing  to  say. 
He  had  not  answered  a  single  one  of  his  charges. 
After  an  instant,  Mr.  Desborough  went  on,  with 
fresh  heat,  "You  are  not  satisfied  with  the  cutting 
off  of  a  future  for  my  son,  —  for  I  attribute  his 
course  mainly  to  your  personal  influence,  —  you  are 
not  satisfied  with  dragging  him  down  to  the  bottom 
of  the  heap  with"  —  He  was  going  to  say  "with 
yourself,"  but  he  looked  at  Will  just  then  and 
stopped.  Nobody  could  look  at  the  strong  lines  on 
Will's  face  and  think  of  him  at  the  bottom  of  any 
heap. 

What  a  listener  Will  was !  Was  he  never  going 
to  speak?  As  Mr.  Desborough  paused,  Will  re 
called  him  by  the  words,  "You  were  saying" 

"That  you  are  not  satisfied  with  —  with  all  this," 
said  Mr.  Desborough,  with  a  sweeping  gesture  as  if 
"all  this"  meant  a  world  of  sins,  "but  you  must 
stand  between  my  daughter  and  her  future!  She 


IN  THE  OFFICE  OF  THE  NEW  FIEM.       285 

must  shut  her  eyes  to  all  that  the  world  offers  her; 
she  must  be  blind  and  deaf  to  the  hopes  of  her  par 
ents.  She  must  throw  away  their  hopes,  their  am 
bition,  their  plans,  —  all  that  they  have  struggled 
for  since  she  was  born,  and  live  upon  your  hopes, 
and  your  plans !  You  ask  her  to  store  up  those  as 
priceless  treasures.  You  claim  to  have  an  interest 
in  her,  —  let  me  tell  you  that  you  stand  in  the  way 
of  her  interests.  You  do  not  speak.  I  think  it  is 
because  any  defense  of  your  course  is  impossible. 
But  you  have  made  but  one  course  advisable  for  us, 
and  that  is  to  take  our  daughter  out  of  your  reach. 
I  have  come  this  morning  to  tell  you  that  we  shall 
sail  for  Europe  in  a  few  days."  Mr.  Desborough 
gave  Will  a  chance  to  exclaim  at  this,  but  there  was 
not  a  sound.  Mr.  Desborough  said,  — 

"Apparently  you  have  been  informed  of  our  in 
tention  ;  your  partnership  is,  no  doubt,  a  source  of 
information.  I  am  not  sorry,  as  perhaps  you  are 
better  prepared  to  do  what  I  have  come  to  ask,  — 
to  demand  of  you." 

"What  have  you  come  to  demand?  "  asked  Will, 
in  a  strange  voice. 

Mr.  Desborough  answered,  "That  you  will  re 
lease  my  daughter  from  every  thought  of  you  as  her 
lover.  That  you  will  allow  her  to  go  away  with  ab 
solutely  no  expectation  that,  in  such  a  character, 
your  interest  will  follow  her,  or  that,  upon  her  re 
turn,  she  will  see  it  restored.  Will  you  consent  to 
do  this?" 

"I  will  not,"  said  Will,  in  the  same  strained 
voice. 


286  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

"As  her  father,  I  demand  it  of  you,"  said  Mr. 
Desborough  rising. 

"As  her  lover  I  refuse  it,"  said  Will,  rising  also 
and  clasping  his  hand  firmly  on  the  back  of  his 
chair. 

"You  speak  without  principle,  sir!  You  ignore 
the  rights  of  a  father,"  said  Mr.  Desborough,  with 
heat. 

"I  speak  with  the  highest  principle,  and  I  have 
given  you  more  than  the  rights  of  a  father,  —  I 
have  remembered  that  you  are  her  father,"  said 
Will  steadily. 

"Your  principle  is  one  impossible  to  understand," 
said  Mr.  Desborough.  But  he  caught  sight  of 
something  which  made  him  stop.  He  was  looking 
at  Will  now,  and  saw  at  last,  in  his  pallor,  his  un 
flinching  eyes,  and  the  lines  of  his  mouth,  that  his 
self-control  was  masterly,  and  that  behind  it  was  a 
reserve  power  he  had  not  suspected. 

"I  think  Miss  Desborough  will  understand,"  said 
Will. 

Mr.  Desborough  exclaimed,  "  She  will  understand 
more  than  you  count  upon,  Mr.  Hedges !  She  will 
understand  that,  whatever  position  you  choose  to 
maintain,  any  engagement  between  her  and  you  is 
impossible;  that  it  will  not  be  recognized  by  her 
family.  Knowing  this,  your  persistence  can  only 
be  a  source  of  unhappiness  to  her.  I  tell  you,  Mr. 
Hedges" —  Mr.  Desborough's  tone  grew  less  per 
emptory  and  more  argumentative  here ;  he  repeated, 
in  almost  a  pleading  voice:  "I  tell  you  I  am  posi 
tive  that  this  feeling  of  my  daughter's  for  you  is  a 


IN  THE  OFFICE  OF  THE  NEW  FIEM.       287 

temporary  one,  a  fancy,  a  delusion.  If  you  test  it 
by  such  a  separation  as  I  desire,  by  allowing  her  to 
go  away  under  the  supposition  that  your  judgment 
concurs  with  mine ;  that  you  yield  to  "  — 

"Stop  there,  Mr.  Desborough!  "  said  Will,  in  his 
own  full,  strong  voice.  "You  have  gone  too  far, 
sir.  I  have  the  right  to  demand  that  you  hear  me 
now!" 

Mr.  Desborough  folded  his  arms  and  said  stiffly : 
"Very  well,  sir,  what  have  you  to  say?" 

"What  I  have  to  say  will  not  affect  you;  your 
manner  convinces  me  of  that,"  said  Will.  "But  it 
is  necessary  for  me  to  speak.  You  have  come  here 
because  you  have  learned  that  I  love  your  daughter ; 
because  I  have  told  her  that,  with  all  the  power  God 
has  given  me,  I  will  try  to  earn  the  right  to  live  for 
her,  the  right  to  ask  her  to  be  my  wife.  You  have 
made  no  attempt  to  find  out  what  I  am,  what  quali 
ties  or  ability  I  possess.  You  have  not  asked  what 
I  require  of  myself  to  make  me  worthy  of  your 
daughter's  hand.  You  come  to  tell  me  simply  that 
I  shall  not  have  it,  that  you  will  prevent  me  from 
winning  it.  You  have  come,  knowing  that  your 
daughter  loves  me,  —  no  matter  about  your  belief 
that  her  feeling  is  transient ;  I  do  not  care  for  that. 
Believing  that  she  loves  me  now,  you  come  to  de 
mand  of  me  that  I  will  side  with  you  in  the  work  of 
destroying  that  love  by  making  myself  unworthy  of 
it!  You  wish  me  to  dishonor  it,  to  make  myself 
false  to  it,  that  she  may  have  reason  to  despise  me ! 
I  have  the  right  to  ask  what  you  have  discovered  in 
my  character  which  allows  you  to  think  me  capable 
of  this?  " 


288  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

"I  make  no  attack  upon  your  character,  Mr. 
Hedges,"  said  Mr.  Desborough  coldly.  "I  wish 
only  to  show  you  that  marriage  between  yourself 
and  my  daughter  is  not  to  be  thought  of,  and  to 
break  the  connection  between  you  now,  before  it  is 
too  late.  But  I  see  that  it  will  be  useless  for  us  to 
talk  any  longer.  My  effort  has  been  fruitless,  and 
without  further  discussion  I  will  pursue  the  course 
upon  which  I  have  determined.  Meanwhile,  I  re 
quest  that  you  will  not  see  her.  I  must  ask 
you"  — 

"Not  until  I  say  something  more  to  you,  sir," 
said  Will  resolutely.  "You  have  made  many 
charges  against  me  which  it  would  be  idle  for  me  to 
answer.  I  shall  not  try  to  do  so.  Time  will  an 
swer  them  for  me,  perhaps,  and  when  it  does,  I " 
Will  stopped  with  sudden  emotion.  He  moved 
toward  the  door  and  made  a  gesture  to  detain  Mr. 
Desborough  from  going  out.  In  another  moment 
he  had  himself  under  control,  and  his  deep,  strong 
voice  .did  not  fail  him  while  he  said :  — 

"You  have  called  my  interest  in  your  daughter 
an  injury  to  her.  It  cannot  be  so  while  her  hand 
points  to  the  standard  for  which  I  aim.  To  reach 
that,  I  exact  more  of  myself  than  any  other  man 
could  exact  of  me.  You  are  going  to  take  her  away 
and  put  half  the  world  between  us.  It  will  make 
no  difference.  I  will  work  the  harder  to  win  the 
right  to  claim  her,  and  when  I  do,  the  world  cannot 
separate  us.  One  other  word  and  I  have  done,  Mr. 
Desborough.  Since  that  separation  must  be,  I  will 
do  nothing  to  make  it  harder  for  —  for  her.  That 


JN  THE  OFFICE  OF  THE  NEW  FIEM.       289 

is  all  I  will  promise  and"  —  lie  stood  very  erect  as 
he  looked  at  Mr.  Desborough  and  said,  "You  are 
her  father  —  I  will  try  to  forget  your  injustice." 

"I  would  like  what  I  have  said  to  be  remembered, 
sir,  not  forgotten,"  said  Mr.  Desborough  angrily, 
and  he  went  away  more  troubled,  far,  than  he  had 
been  when  he  came.  This  young  man  who  was  to 
be  so  easily  bidden,  and  forbidden,  was  not  to  be 
set  aside  without  trouble.  The  aspect  of  the  case 
from  each  new  point  of  view,  seemed  more  difficult. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

ELOISE  MEDDLES   AT   THE   EIGHT  MOMENT. 

IN  the  crisis  of  affairs  at  home  Horace  had,  of 
course,  learned  how  matters  stood  between  his  sister 
Grace  and  his  partner.  He  had  made  a  brave  fight 
for  them  and  done  what  he  could  to  alter  the  deci 
sion  of  his  parents,  but  his  efforts  could  not,  under 
the  circumstances,  prove  otherwise  than  futile. 

He  kept  as  much  as  possible  out  of  Grace's  way. 
Once,  meeting  him  in  the  library,  she  had  thrown 
herself  into  his  arms  and  broken  out  with  a  violent 
fit  of  sobbing.  When  with  difficulty  he  had  quieted 
her,  she  could  not  talk  to  him.  He  was  the  one 
person  in  the  house  before  whom  her  self-control 
broke  down.  Seeing  this,  he  hastened  his  own  ar 
rangements,  and  moved  himself  and  his  belongings 
to  the  house  in  which  Will  Hedges  lived,  where  he 
had  secured  a  room.  He  made  daily  visits  home, 
and  took  what  charge  was  permitted  him  of  the  prep 
arations  for  the  breaking  up.  He  always  asked  for 
Grace,  but  made  no  resistance  to  his  mother's  little 
methods  of  keeping  her  out  of  sight  as  much  as  pos 
sible. 

"You  know  she  can't  help  crying  when  she  is 
with  you,  and  really  she  gets  along  very  well  when 
you  are  away,"  Mrs.  Desborough  said. 


ELOISE  MEDDLES  AT  THE  EIGHT  MOMENT.    291 

Horace  knew  better.  He  knew  that  Grace's 
power  of  resistance  was  exhausted,  that  was  all.  It 
was  not  in  her  to  make  a  very  good  fight.  She  had 
done  her  best.  The  contest  was  over  and  lost,  and 
now  there  was  nothing  for  her  but  submission. 

It  was  a  pitiful  household.  Even  Eloise,  who 
had  been  beside  herself  with  happiness  at  the  pros 
pect  of  travel,  sight-seeing  and  shopping,  was  be 
ginning  to  ferret  out  a  dark  side  of  the  picture. 
She  had  discovered  that  the  family  talks  from  which 
she  was  excluded  were  not  all  about  stupid  business 
plans,  and  how  Horace  was  going  to  live  as  a  bach 
elor,  but  that  something  was  up  which  did  not  seem 
to  suit  anybody.  She  watched  for  available  open 
ings  in  conversation  and  struck  in,  with  her  usual 
determination  to  know  as  much  as  anybody,  but, 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  was  snubbed  with  a 
decision  and  efficacy  which  cut  off  at  the  outset  her 
search  for  knowledge,  and  left  her  ignorant  as  to 
the  real  nature  of  the  trouble.  All  she  gathered 
was  that  Grace  was  not  well  and  that  the  trip  to 
Europe  was  to  be  for  her  benefit.  Eloise 's  efforts 
to  learn  anything  more  were  pitilessly  nipped  in  the 
bud,  and  she  was  set  aside  and  disposed  of  as  an 
article  not  in  requisition  at  this  time. 

"That 's  the  way  they  all  do,  Thomas,"  she  said 
one  afternoon,  coming  out  of  the  library  in  disgust 
and  meeting  the  waiter  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 
"They  let  me  stay  with  them  all  the  time  they  are 
just  tiresome,  but  the  minute  they  begin  to  say 
anything  I  want  to  hear,  they  pack  me  off!"  For 
want  of  better  entertainment  she  followed  Thomas 


292  EACHEL  STANWOOD. 

into  the  butler's  pantry  and  watched  him  pack  the 
silver. 

Eloise  had  no  imagination  to  fall  back  upon ;  her 
mind  was  a  practical  one,  and  had  little  to  contrib 
ute  in  the  way  of  entertainment.  When  she  played 
with  Betty  Stanwood,  she  lost  patience  with  Betty 
for  calling  things  by  the  wrong  names.  She  de 
spised  "Benjamin  Bump,"  "Timothy  Tickleboy," 
and  the  family  of  "  Timberkins ;  "  they  were  to  her 
dead  sticks  and  lumber,  and  Betty  was  silly  and 
stupid  to  call  them  anything  else.  Had  Betty  been 
in  Eloise's  place  this  afternoon,  she  would  have 
created  out  of  the  pieces  of  silver  a  whole  raft  of 
companions,  but  to  Eloise  the  forks  were  forks,  and 
the  spoons  spoons,  and  they  were  intolerably  monoto 
nous.  For  a  while  she  helped  Thomas  roll  them, 
one  by  one,  in  strips  of  tissue  paper,  but  the  occu 
pation  was  too  useful  to  interest  her  long.  She 
asked  Thomas  all  the  questions  she  could  think  of, 
but  his  biography  was  dull.  Everybody  was  dull. 
She  decided  to  go  upstairs  and  see  if  Grace  would 
not  let  her  "fix  up,"  by  which  she  meant  haul  over 
the  drawers  where  she  kept  her  ribbons,  and  laces, 
and  jewelry. 

She  was  just  about  to  start  when  a  ring  of  the 
front  door  bell  broke  the  monotony  of  the  hour,  and 
while  Thomas  went  to  answer  it,  Eloise  fitted  her 
nose  into  the  crack  of  the  pantry  door  to  learn  who 
had  rung.  She  heard  Thomas  say,  "Miss  Desbor- 
ough  ain't  disposed  and  she  's  got  so  many  trunks 
to  pack  that  she  can't  see  nobody,  sir,  till  she  comes 
back  from  Europe," 


ELOISE  MEDDLES  AT  THE  EIGHT  MOMENT.    293 

Eloise  slid  the  door  along  a  little  farther  and  rec 
ognized  Mr.  William  Hedges. 

"Oh,  Thomas,  what  a  dreadful  story!  "she  ex 
claimed,  springing  out  of  the  pantry  and  running  to 
admit  Will  herself  into  the  house.  Taking  posses 
sion  of  the  front  door,  she  slung  it  open  all  the  way, 
so  that  it  practically  pinned  Thomas  back  against 
the  wall.  She  glared  at  him  over  her  shoulder  and 
scolded,  "You  know  well  enough  that  Henriette  has 
to  pack  everything,  and  Gracie  would  be  as  mad 
as  fury,  if  she  heard  you  say  such  a  thing  to  Mr. 
Hedges!  Come  into  the  parlor,  Mr.  Hedges,  and 
I  '11  call  Gracie  down,  because  she  would  not  like  it 
a  single  bit  if  we  got  off  to  Europe  and  she  never 
said  good-by  to  you."  And,  determined  to  show 
Thomas  the  full  iniquity  of  his  misrepresentations, 
Eloise  snatched  the  bunch  of  violets  from  Will's 
hand  and  said,  "J'll  take  these  flowers  to  Gracie, 
Mr.  Hedges.  Thomas,  you  can  go  back  to  your 
work." 

And  so  saying  she  ran  upstairs  to  kill  two  birds 
with  one  stone,  —  tell  Grace  that  Mr.  Hedges  was 
waiting  to  see  her,  and  get  permission  to  ransack 
the  attractive  things  in  her  bureau  drawers. 

Thomas  went  back  to  the  pantry,  with  indigna 
tion  which  was  not  altogether  unrighteous.  In  say 
ing  that  Miss  Desborough  was  indisposed  he  was 
simply  obeying  his  mistress's  orders;  his  statement 
concerning  the  trunks  was  an  addition  of  his  own 
because  he  was  tired  of  answering  the  frequent  in 
quiries  of  Mr.  Hedges. 

William  Hedges  had  resolved  that  he  would  see 


294  EACHEL  STANWOOD. 

Grace  before  she  went  away,  but,  if  it  was  a  pos 
sible  thing,  he  meant  to  see  her,  openly,  in  her 
father's  house.  After  two  or  three  failures,  he  de 
cided  that  he  was  not  going  to  be  admitted,  but  he 
persisted,  in  the  hope  that  some  fortunate  accident 
might  aid  him.  He  might  have  contrived  a  dozen 
secret  meetings  with  Grace,  but  he  did  not  mean  to 
resort  to  one,  unless  driven  to  the  extremity.  He 
meant  just  what  he  said  when  he  told  Mr.  Desbor- 
ough  that  he  would  not  make  the  situation  harder 
than  it  already  was  for  Grace,  and,  to  avoid  that, 
he  wanted  to  keep  her  course  clear  and  straight  with 
her  parents  if  he  could.  The  accident  he  had  hoped 
for  had  come  just  in  time.  The  meddlesome  little 
Eloise,  for  once,  had  meddled  at  the  right  moment. 
Will  did  not  know  but  that  she  would  announce  him 
to  her  parents  also,  but  he  was  ready  to  meet  them 
if  they  came.  He  was  going  to  plead  to  be  allowed 
to  see  Grace,  to  give  them  his  word  of  honor  that 
his  interview  with  her  should  help  reconcile  her 
to  parting  with  him  —  for  a  time.  He  would  even 
agree  not  to  write  to  her,  and  to  let  her  go  away 
without  binding  her  by  promises.  And  then,  if  it 
was  proved  that  his  and  Grace's  love  for  each  other 
was  fixed  and  unchangeable,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Desbor- 
ough  would  wish  to  reunite  them.  He  would  stand 
before  them  so  clear  and  right  in  the  course  he 
meant  to  take,  that  they  could  not  help  seeing  the 
justice  of  it,  or  fail  to  admit  into  the  bond  that  one 
little  mighty  "if"  which  would  make  Grace  bear  up 
through  all  the  long  separation.  Oh,  he  was  going 
to  say  noble  things,  grand  things  to  them.  He  had 


ELOISE  MEDDLES  AT  THE  RIGHT  MOMENT.    295 

held  on  to  himself  when  he  had  seen  Mr.  Desbor- 
ough ;  he  had  not  let  himself  out.  Day  and  night, 
ever  since,  he  had  thought  of  the  things  he  ought  to 
have  said  then ;  it  was  not  fair  to  Mr.  Desborough 
to  expect  from  him  any  kind  of  understanding  from 
such  an  interview.  He  had  said  just  the  wrong 
things  then;  now  he  was  ready  to  say  the  right  ones. 
Now  — 

The  door  opened,  there  was  the  rustle  of  a  soft 
gown,  and  Grace,  with  a  quick,  appealing  move 
ment,  threw  herself  into  his  arms.  And,  instead  of 
all  his  brave  intention  to  wait  and  win  her  parents' 
consent,  Will  was  holding  her  as  if  she  were  his 
own  now,  for  life!  All  question  of  winning  was 
done  with  forever. 

"Poor  little  girl!  Poor  little  girl!"  he  said, 
after  a  minute,  his  hand  keeping  her  head  on  his 
breast,  while  he  made  her  sit  down  with  him  on  the 
sofa.  She  was  trembling  and  sobbing  violently. 

"Cry  it  all  out  there,  darling,"  Will  whispered. 
"Leave  the  heartache  there,  if  you  can.  I  want  it 
all  to  keep,  while  you  are  away.  If  I  cannot  help 
you  bear  your  pain,  my  love  counts  for  nothing." 

Presently  she  looked  up  at  him  with  a  fixed  ex 
pression  he  had  never  seen  upon  her  face.  Her 
trembling  had  ceased,  but  she  was  very  white  while 
she  said  with  decision :  "If  they  keep  me  away  from 
you  a  lifetime,  I  cannot  change.  You  will  never 
believe  anything  else,  will  you?" 

"Never !  "  said  Will,  looking  into  her  eyes.  "And 
you  believe  the  same  of  me?" 

"Yes,  I  do,"  Grace  said  firmly. 


296  EACHEL  STANWOOD. 

"Why  then,  where  is  all  the  pain?  "  asked  Will 
almost  brightly.  "  What  is  it  all  about  ?  No,  don't 
move  your  head  for  a  minute.  Look  at  me  just 
so,  while  I  say  something  I  want  you  to  remember. 
We  trust  each  other,  and  that  is  all  we  need  to 
know." 

"And  it  shall  not  be  a  lifetime,  or  even  a  great 
part  of  a  lifetime,"  he  insisted  presently,  when  he 
knew  that  he  must  go. 

"I  am  going  to  live  my  best  for  you,  and  you 
must  promise  me  to  do  the  same.  Will  you? 
Look  up  again,"  he  whispered,  bending  over  her. 
"Give  me  one  kiss,  my  darling,  and  say  you  will." 

"I  will,"  she  said  softly,  and  kissed  him. 

How  on  earth  were  they  to  do  any  better?  They 
had  braced  each  other  up  to  bear  as  much  sacrifice 
as  anybody  had  a  right  to  ask,  —  as  much  as  they 
were  capable  of  bearing.  Mother  Nature  has  some 
thing  to  say  about  these  things. 

And  the  parents  thought  they  were  doing  the 
wisest  thing  for  their  daughter's  happiness.  They 
took  her  away  in  the  expectation  that  Europe  was 
going  to  cure  her  of  her  fancy  for  Mr.  William 
Hedges,  her  anti-slavery  hobbies,  and  everything 
else  that  was  unwholesome  and  undesirable. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

A  VIOLIN,    AND   SHADOWS. 

HOKACE  DESBOROUGH  had  taken  a  room  in  the 
house  where  William  Hedges  lived.  It  was  in 
the  middle  of  a  long  row  of  red  brick  three -story 
houses,  with  green  blinds,  narrow  little  areas  two 
steps  deep,  and  high  doorsteps.  The  row  extended 
from  Second  Avenue  nearly  to  the  Bowery,  where  it 
ended  against  three  one-story  shops,  and,  at  the 
corner,  a  police  station.  Along  the  opposite  side 
of  the  street  was  a  row  of  private  stables  belonging 
to  the  modestly  stylish  houses  in  the  street  above. 
Horace  Desborough  occupied  the  large  back  room 
and  hall  bedroom  on  the  second  floor,  and  William 
Hedges  occupied  the  corresponding  rooms  on  the 
floor  above. 

One  evening  in  the  latter  part  of  September, 
Horace  went  upstairs  to  visit  his  friend.  It  was  a 
warm  evening,  and  Will  was  sitting,  hugging  one 
knee,  on  one  of  the  wide  window-seats. 

"Don't  light  up,"  said  Horace,  as  Will  rose  and 
struck  a  match.  "There  is  something  novel  and 
interesting  in  this  ghostliness.  Go  back  to  your 
window;  I  '11  take  the  other  one." 

"All  right,"  said  Will.  "Light  a  cigar,  if  you 
have  one  about  you.  I  suppose  I  'm  inhospitable 


298  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

not  to  have  any  to  offer  a  fellow,  but,  to  tell  the 
truth,  I  never  thought  of  it  before." 

"It's  more  considerate  of  you  to  be  without," 
said  Horace,  settling  himself  in  his  window  and 
lighting  one  from  his  case.  "Not  being  a  smoker, 
you  could  not  select  them  satisfactorily;  you'd  be 
cheated  and  I  should  have  to  smoke  poison  and  make 
believe  I  liked  it.  By  Jupiter,  this  is  ghostly!  "  he 
exclaimed,  looking  out  of  the  window. 

The  full  moon  was  just  rising  over  the  chimneys 
along  Second  Avenue  and  shone  across  a  large 
graveyard  in  the  centre  of  the  square.  A  dark 
stone  wall  about  fifteen  feet  high  surrounded  the 
cemetery,  and  lent  itself  on  its  four  sides  for  the 
house  yards  to  back  up  against.  Here  and  there 
vines  climbed  from  the  graves,  between  the  marble 
tablets  built  in  at  regular  distances  from  one  an 
other  along  the  inner  surface  of  the  walls.  Some 
times  the  vines  reached  and  covered  the  wall-top, 
concealing  a  part  of  it,  and,  in  a  few  places,  they 
met  other  vines  which  climbed  up  from  the  yards, 
and  they  became  hopelessly  entangled,  as  each 
struggled  to  get  over  the  wall  into  the  other's  do 
main. 

As  the  moon  rose  higher,  its  light  shone  between 
the  trees  and  shrubbery  upon  the  white  slabs. 

"They  look  like  ghostly  sentinels,"  Horace  said, 
after  watching  them  a  while. 

"  What  looks  like  what  ?  "  asked  Will.  His  mind 
was  back  with  the  steamer  which  had  carried  Grace 
away.  The  graveyard  was  too  familiar  to  him  to 
excite  any  particular  interest  or  sentiment.  He 


A  VIOLIN,  AND  SHADOWS.  299 

asked  his  question   idly  and  sent   his  mind   back 
again  directly  where  it  wanted  to  be. 

"Those  slabs,  set  in  the  wall  over  the  vaults," 
said  Horace,  who  had  not  seen  the  place  before  by 
moonlight.  "I  say  they  look  like  grim  sentinels. 
If  they  only  had  something  to  guard,  it  would  be 
an  improvement.  A  few  tombstones,  the  merest 
sprinkle  of  monuments,  would  be  hilarious  compared 
with  this  barren  emptiness.  Those  underground 
vaults  seem  so  unsocial,  so  unneighborly.  Perhaps 
the  occupants  come  out  of  an  evening  and  make  it 
up  to  one  another.  If  they  do,  I  hope  they  won't 
take  to  soaring  and  come  upon  us,  up  here,  una 
wares!  I  wonder  if  they  object  to  tobacco  smoke!  " 

"Who  object?"  asked  Will,  making  an  effort 
and  coming  back  to  his  surroundings. 

"Some  enterprising  ghost  or  frisky  hobgoblin 
who  might  leave  one  of  the  vaults  down  there  and 
come  up  to  gossip  with  us.  I  wondered  if  he  'd 
object  to  tobacco,  and  what  would  be  the  effect  of 
a  puff  of  smoke  into  his  —  through  his  vacuum." 
Horace  was  grimly  fascinated  by  his  train  of 
thought. 

"Speak  respectfully  of  the  inhabitants  of  these 
tombs,  old  fellow,"  said  Will.  "And  if  they  ap 
pear,  take  off  your  hat.  They  come  from  genuine 
old  Knickerbocker  nobility  and  will  be  stately 
ghosts,  I  assure  you." 

"Ah,  that's  comforting,"  said  Horace.  "If  I 
should  see  one,  it  would  be  interesting  to  spot  him. 
I  won't  mind  about  my  cigar  then;  these  fellows 
will  recognize  it  as  a  genuine  Habaila,  and  will  re- 


300  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

gard  its  ashes  as  equivalent  to  a  courtesy  on  my 
part."  He  knocked  his  cigar  ashes  into  space  and 
peered  idly  down  into  the  yards.  There  was  a 
slight  disturbance  of  some  kind  in  the  yard  next 
door,  in  the  further  corner,  by  the  cemetery  wall, 
where  the  vines  were  thickest.  It  was  over  in  an 
instant;  a  cat,  probably,  returning  from  a  stroll 
along  the  smooth  wall-top,  Horace  thought. 

It  was  growing  late.  The  lights  in  the  windows 
of  the  houses  in  the  next  street  were  put  out  grad 
ually,  and  somebody  who  had  been  playing  "The 
Maiden's  Prayer"  indefatigably,  upon  a  piano 
worthy  of  a  better  cause,  stopped. 

The  other  occupants  of  the  house  which  the  young 
men  were  in  settled  for  the  night,  and  excepting  an 
occasional  sound  of  blinds  being  closed  and  of  gen 
eral  shutting  up,  there  was  soon  nothing  to  be  heard 
but  the  hum  of  some  voices  in  conversation  in  a 
room  next  door.  For  a  long  time  the  young  men 
were  silent.  They  were  purposely  avoiding  the  only 
subject  which  interested  them.  Horace  rose,  pre 
paratory  to  leaving,  and  stood  for  a  minute  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  looking  at  the  graveyard. 

"It  is  strangely  quiet,  even  for  the  hour,  consid 
ering  we  are  in  a  great  city,"  he  observed. 

"Yes,"  said  Will,  rising  and  joining  him.  "The 
ghosts  are  decorous,  you  see;  we  are  Quakers  and 
next  door  to  Quakers,  and  in  the  house  beyond,  — 
Dr.  Brenton's, — they  speak  principally  the  silent 
language,  as  they  call  it.  Mrs.  Brenton  is  a  deaf 
mute." 

"I  have  heard   of   her,"   said    Horace.     "Miss 


A  VIOLIN,  AND  SHADOWS.  301 

Stanwood  says  the  language,  as  she  speaks  it,  is 
most  expressive.  I  heard  somebody  else  call  it 
'the  language  of  the  heart,'  but  that's  sentimen 
tal." 

"That  describes  it  imperfectly,"  said  Will,  "but 
it  isn't  over-sentimental,  either.  I  tell  you,  Des- 
borough,  it  takes  you  mighty  near  heaven  to  see 
the  children  in  there  put  their  prayers  into  signs. 
I  'm  intimate  there,  and  Mrs.  Brenton  lets  me  into 
the  nursery  sometimes.  When  they  get  to  going, 
there  's  a  good  deal  of  heart  in  the  language,  after 
all." 

It  was  cheerful  to  hear  Will  talk  about  anything, 
he  had  been  so  silent.  Horace  encouraged  him, 
professing  curiosity  concerning  the  language  of 
mutes. 

"It 's  as  good  as  a  play,"  Will  went  on,  "to  see 
the  three-year-old  make  the  sign  of  the  eagle,  tweak 
ing  her  nose  for  the  beak  and  flapping  her  arms  for 
the  wings.  Her  language  is  something  beside  heart, 
—  it  is  unmitigated  mischief." 

"I  have  heard  of  Mrs.  Brenton  conversing  with 
two  people  at  once,"  said  Horace. 

"Yes,  and  then  it 's  witchcraft,"  said  Will. 
"  Well,  there  are  plenty  of  tongues  that  hang  in 
the  middle,  but"-  He  stopped  to  lean  forward 
and  see  again  if  there  was  anything  moving  in  the 
corner  of  the  yard  next  door.  The  shadows  were 
too  black  to  see.  He  watched  them  for  a  moment, 
his  curiosity  awakening.  As  he  drew  back,  Will 
was  saying,  "advantage  over  all  tongues,  native  and 
foreign." 


302  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

"Yes,"  said  Horace,  his  mind  going  back  to  a 
picture  of  Mrs.  Brenton  talking  to  two  people  at 
once.  "A  case  where,  literally,  the  left  hand  does 
not  know  what  the  'right  hand  doeth.''  A  long 
note  from  a  violin  almost  under  the  window  stopped 
him. 

"Ah!  "  exclaimed  Will,  in  a  tone  of  satisfaction. 
"You  can't  go  now, — sit  down  again  and  let's 
have  it  together.  We  need  n't  talk  about  languages 
of  the  heart,  or  witchcraft  either;  we  '11  hear  both." 
The  violin  notes  sounded  intervals,  as  it  was  being 
tuned,  while  Will  said,  "That  is  Ole  Bull's  violin; 
he  is  in  Aunt  Maria's  parlor.  You  may  as  well 
settle  down  for  another  hour,  Desborough.  This  is 
the  first  night  of  the  regular  season;  we  shall  hear 
lots  of  the  best  music  from  these  windows,  which  are 
better  than  any  private  boxes  at  the  Tabernacle." 

"There  's  a  mark  of  deference  I  have  never  ob 
served  before,"  said  Horace,  drawing  in  from  the 
window  out  of  which  he  had  been  leaning  half  his 

O 

length.  "There  was  the  buzz  of  a  good  number  of 
voices  in  that  room  before  Ole  Bull  began  to  tune 
his  instrument,  but  every  one  hushed  with  the  first 
note.  It  is  so  at  the  concerts,  too;  the  audience 
listens  even  to  the  tuning,  unwilling  to  lose  a  sound. 
I  am  glad  it  is  warm  enough  for  Mrs.  Child  to  leave 
the  windows  open." 

"If  the  weather  admits  of  it  at  all,  she  always 
lowers  the  one  this  way  a  little,  in  consideration  for 
me.  I  've  sat  here  with  my  overcoat  and  hat  on 
many  a  time." 

The  pianist,  making  ready  for  an  accompaniment, 


A  VIOLIN,  AND  SHADOWS.  303 

struck  a  few  chords  vigorously  and  trifled  skillfully 
a  moment  with  arpeggios. 

"Now,"  said  Will,  "we  are  in  for  a  treat.  And 
—  yes  —  we  are  to  begin  with  witchcraft.  Here 
comes  'The  Carnival  of  Venice,'  and  we  are  going 
to  have  all  that  is  weird  and  uncanny  out  of  Pan 
demonium.  But  don't  hold  the  population  of  this 
graveyard  responsible!  They  are  shutting  them 
selves  up  in  their  tombs,  with  offended  dignity. 
Silly  of  them!  Ole  Bull  is  a  sorcerer,  and  can 
charm  them  out  again  any  minute." 

Will  remained  standing  at  Horace's  window  while 
"The  Carnival,"  with  all  its  antics,  sang,  danced, 
laughed,  cried,  scolded,  and  shrieked.  With  its 
closing  notes  the  listeners  next  door  and  the  two 
young  men  at  their  window  broke,  simultaneously, 
into  an  answering  laugh. 

"Walpurgis  Night!"  said  Horace.  "Witches 
and  broomsticks!  Imps  and  forked  lightning!  I 
believe  the  man  is  intimate  with  'em  all.  Odd  to 
think  of  those  incantations  going  on  over  the  heads 
of  the  quiet  old  Quaker  couple  downstairs!  " 

"Father  and  Mother  Holly  are  guardian  angels," 
said  Will.  "Their  presence  in  the  house  is  protec 
tion  against  the  possible  enchantments  of  Ole  Bull's 
mischievous  spirits. ' ' 

"He  plays  with  supernatural  advantages,"  said 
Horace.  "From  what  Grace  says,  I  should  call 
Mrs.  Child's  room  enchanted."  And  he  whistled 
delicately  the  carnival  air,  while  Will,  settling  in 
an  armchair  beside  him,  was  saying,  "Yes,  that  will 
work  a  quieter  charm  later  on,  if  you  notice." 


304  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

It  was  impossible  to  get  rid  of  "The  Carnival" 
immediately.  There  was  an  interval  of  talk  in  Mrs. 
Child's  room  and  another  gay,  fantastic  tune  from 
the  violin.  Will  and  Horace  listened  silently,  with 
nothing  to  say  to  each  other.  Then  all  was  quiet 
next  door  for  so  long  a  time  that  it  seemed  as  if  the 
music  were  done  with  for  the  night.  But  presently, 
out  of  perfect  stillness,  Schubert's  "Ave  Maria" 
floated  into  the  night  and  drove  the  mind  of  Will 
Hedges  away  out  to  sea.  What  was  Grace  doing? 
Was  she  asleep?  Ave  Maria!  Will's  soul  fol 
lowed,  with  the  notes  of  the  violin,  a  wordless  prayer 
for  Grace,  so  fervently  that  he  did  not  hear  Hor 
ace's  exclamation  at  the  end  of  the  song,  or  notice 
just  where  the  violin  went  into  "  The  Last  Rose  of 
Summer,"  or  from  that  into  "John  Anderson." 
And  the  tenderness  of  the  wonderful  instrument 
reached  its  height  with  "John  Anderson,"  for  it 
was  the  player's  fancy  to  call  down  a  benediction 
with  it  upon  "Father  and  Mother  Holly."  Will 
had  meant  to  tell  Horace  how  Ole  Bull  dedicated 
his  playing  of  that  song  to  them.  But  his  mind  had 
got  upon  Grace  and  the  music  all  meant  her  to  him, 
nothing  else.  It  was  Schubert's  "Wanderer"  —but 
Wrill  did  not  know  it  —  which  started  him  upon  a 
mournful  train  of  thought.  "  Grace  was  torn  away 
from  him.  He  had  let  her  go  without  fighting  for 
her,  as  he  might  have  done.  To  let  her  be  taken 
away  so  was  to  play  with  her  happiness,  her  peace. 
And  now  it  was  too  late  to  help  it !  He  knew  her 
heart ;  she  could  not  change  to  him,  and  this  parting- 
meant  desolation.  Something  fell  upon  his  hand. 


A  VIOLIN,  AND  SHADOWS.  305 

Tears  ?  Had  he  been  crying  ?  He  started,  wonder 
ing  if  Horace  could  have  seen  him.  He  had  forgotten 
Horace's  very  existence.  It  was  of  no  consequence, 
for  Horace  had  apparently  forgotten  him,  also,  and 
was  leaning  over,  looking  down  into  the  graveyard 
again.  He  could  not  keep  his  eyes  away  from  it. 

The  violin  had  stopped.  When  ?  Will  had  not 
noticed.  He  knew  by  the  quiet  and  the  darkness 
of  Mrs.  Child's  window  that  her  company  had  gone. 
The  loneliness  and  dreariness  of  night  settled  down 
to  stay.  A  light  breeze  sprung  up  and  was  swaying 
the  branches  in  the  cemetery.  It  swept  through 
the  trees  with  a  pleasant  sound,  beginning  off  at  the 
farther  end,  and,  coming  with  a  gentle  rush  down 
to  a  large  pine-tree  opposite  the  house,  made  its 
loudest  swell  there  and  then  trailed  itself  away, 
along  the  vines  on  the  wall-top,  and  died.  After  a 
moment  or  two  it  came  again  and  Will  listened, 
trying  to  make  it  into  a  rhythm,  like  waves  rolling 
in  upon  a  beach.  When  the  vines  rattled  it  was 
the  foam  dashing  against  —  not  the  beach,  but  the 
side  of  a  vessel  which  was  ploughing  its  way  through 
the  ocean  and  carrying  with  it  all  that  was  worth 
living  for.  The  breeze  came  like  a  moan,  and,  at 
its  swell  in  the  big  tree,  rose  to  a  pitiful  cry  which 
could  get  no  answer.  It  sobbed  itself  away  again, 
—  away,  almost  into  stillness,  and  then  changed 
once  more  into  sobs  and  grew  — 

Will   started   suddenly  as  if  he  had   received  a 
shock. 

"What  is  it?"  he  exclaimed.     He  spoke  softly, 
but  his  voice,  in  the  stillness,  seemed  loud. 


306  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

Horace  had  touched  him  and  was  pointing  down 
to  the  yard  below. 

"Hush!"  he  whispered.  "Watch  that  corner, 
next  door!  Move  this  way,  out  of  the  moonlight. 
I  saw  a  head  there  a  moment  ago.  I  believe  a 
burglar  is  hiding  under  —  There !  " 

There  was  a  movement  and  rustle  among  the 
vines,  and  the  head  and  shoulders  of  some  one  ap 
peared  over  the  shadows.  For  only  a  second. 

A  dark  shape  laid  itself  on  the  tangle  of  vines 
and  dropped  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall.  There 
was  a  scramble  among  some  bushes  and  the  sound  of 
fleeing  feet. 

"What  shall  we  do?  Alarm  the  police?"  asked 
Horace. 

It  took  Will  an  instant  or  two  to  fully  awake 
from  his  dreaming  and  get  his  mind  to  work  practi 
cally.  Then  he  said,  "  There  is  only  one  exit  to  the 
cemetery,  and  that  is  a  difficult  one,  on  Second 
Avenue.  Two  high  gates  to  climb,  with  a  carriage 
way  between." 

"Come  on,  old  fellow,"  said  Horace,  eager  for  an 
adventure.  "We  're  in  for  a  masquerade !  " 

They  stole  cautiously  out  of  the  house  and  hurried 
around  the  corner  to  the  exit  which  Will  had  de 
scribed.  They  peered  between  the  bars  of  the  high 
iron  gate,  but  saw  no  one.  The  street  seemed  de 
serted.  Far  down  town  the  lights  of  a  pair  of  coach 
lanterns  were  moving  slowly  along  and  the  rumble 
of  a  heavy  wagon  sounded  in  the  distance.  Will 
drew  Horace  into  the  shadow  of  an  undertaker's  shop 
door,  next  the  gate.  "Let 's  watch  here,"  he  said. 


A  VIOLIN,  AND  SHADOWS.  307 

They  had  scarcely  stationed  themselves  when  two 
men  turned  the  corner  of  the  street,  stood  for  a 
moment  and  looked  about  them  in  every  direction, 
and  walked  slowly  by.  As  they  came  within  hear 
ing  one  was  saying,  "She  says  the  Brooklyn  nig 
ger's  is  the  most  likely  place,  and  she  is  deuced 
clever."  The  other  said,  "And  she  has  been  to  the 
nigger's  and  could  show  us  the  spot  before"  — 

Will  tried  to  hear  more,  but  the  men  passed 
along  and,  turning  the  next  corner,  disappeared. 

"Accomplices?"  asked  Horace. 

"  No  —  may  be.  Listen !  "  said  Will.  They  could 
hear  nothing  but  the  roll  of  the  coach  wheels  coming 
nearer. 

"  Whoever  the  burglar  is,  I  'm  thinking  he  has 
decided  to  stay  a  while  in  the  graveyard,"  said  Hor 
ace.  "If  the  ghosts  there  would  be  practical  and 
energetic  enough  to  hold  on  to  him  for  us,  I  'd  be  a 
convert  to  spiritualism.  Could  he  have  got  away 
before  we  reached  here?" 

"Did  you  hear  what  those  men  said?"  asked 
Will. 

"Yes,"  said  Horace.  "What  do  you  suppose 
they  meant?" 

"Wish  I  knew,"  said  Will.  "Come  look 
through  the  gate  again;  nobody  is  in  sight." 

There  was  nothing  to  see.  The  moon  could  not 
edge  a  ray  of  light  into  the  carriage  way. 

"Shall  I  strike  a  match?"  asked  Horace. 

"Yes;  if  any  one  sees,  they  '11  think  you  're  light 
ing  a  cigar,"  said  Will. 

Horace  put  two  matches  together,  to  make   the 


308  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

flame  larger.  By  its  light  they  perceived  a  rope 
hanging  from  the  gate  spikes.  Examining  it,  they 
found  that  it  was  curiously  knotted  into  loops. 
Horace  used  the  loops  as  a  ladder  and  climbed  over 
into  the  driveway. 

"Hedges,  the  plot  thickens,"  he  whispered  be 
tween  the  bars.  This  is  a  regularly  contrived 
means  of  escape.  The  villain  has  been  making  his 
ladder  during  the  evening,  in  that  dark  corner  of 
your  neighbor's  yard.  I  wouldn't  give  a  penny 
for  the  ghosts." 

"Examine  the  big  door  at  the  other  end,"  said 
Will.  "Feel  —  don't  strike  a  match  this  time;  no 
body  will  suspect  you  of  getting  in  there  for  a 
smoke!  " 

"By  Jove!"  said  Will,  when  Horace  passed  a 
tangled  bunch  of  rope  through  the  bars  to  him. 
"Knotted  in  the  same  way;  he  's  a  clever  one." 

"I  've  treed  him  now,  unless  he  got  away  too  soon 
for  us,"  Horace  said,  and  climbed  back  into  the 
street. 

A  shadow  moved  within  a  few  paces  of  them,  and 
a  policeman  walked  lazily  up  to  where  they  stood 
and  asked  what  they  were  going  to  do  with  those 
ropes.  In  a  moment  they  knew  that  he  had  been 
watching  them,  and  Horace  explained.  Will  tried 
to  turn  the  officer's  mind  on  the  suspicion  of  some 
one  who  had  had  ample  time  to  escape. 

"'T ain't  loikely  it's  a  thafe  a-toll,"  said  the 
watchman,  in  a  surly  tone,  peering  through  the  bars 
and  throwing  the  light  from  his  lantern  into  the 
carriage  way.  "It 's  a  dull  one  that  'd  be  runnin' 


A  VIOLIN,  AND  SHADOWS.  309 

such  chances  for  the  sake  of  what  he  'd  be  foinding 
in  the  house  yez  are  afther  designa-ting.  There  's 
nivver  the  fool  amongst  the  thaves  that  don't  know 
there  'd  be  nothin'  to  shtale  in  the  house  of  a 
Quaker,  an'  the  Shtates  Prison  to  risk  for  it.  An' 
it 's  no  fool  of  a  rogue  that  'd  make  these  here  con- 
vaniences,"  shaking  the  ropes,  "an'  not  be  con- 
thrivin'  enough  to  take  'em  along  a  ways  wid  him, 
instid  of  lavin'  'em  behint  for  jist  the  ivvydence  the 
detictives  '11  be  wantin'." 

"In  heaven's  name,  who  could  it  be  but  a  thief?  " 
asked  Will  impatiently.  "And  what's  the  use  of 
evidence  when  he  has  had  time  to  get  to  the  Bat 
tery?" 

"An'  may  be  yez  might  give  a  bit  more  infarma- 
tion  about  him,  if  yez  were  incloined  that  wa-ay !  " 
said  the  officer  insolently. 

"We  may  incline  to  do  something  else,  if  you  're 
not  careful,"  said  Horace  indignantly,  and  would 
have  said  more  if  Will  had  not  nudged  him. 

"It's  me  advice  that  yez  take  yer  incloinations 
whome  wid  yez,  an'  not  be  givin'  me  anny  of  yer 
divvel's  blackguard  impartinence,  for  me  to  put  wid 
me  tistymony  in  the  court,  whin  1  'm  called  oop  to 
rela-ate  the  fax  about  two  dacent  gintlemen  eloimb- 
ing  the  gate  of  the  graveyarrud,  ^wid  the  ropes  in 
their  han's,  as  familiar  as  if  they  'd  been  aidin'  in 
an  elopement  an' ' 

He  straightened  himself  up  suddenly  and  with  a 
quick  gesture  of  command,  motioned  Will  and  Hor 
ace  to  be  silent.  His  attention  was  fixed  upon  the 
corner  of  the  next  cross-street  over  opposite. 


310  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

Four  young  men  turned  it,  walking  abreast,  with 
their  arms  interlinked,  keeping  step  with  "The 
Low -backed  Car,"  which  they  were  whistling. 
They  had  gone  far  enough  on  their  way  down  Sec 
ond  Avenue  for  their  steps  and  whistling  to  grow 
faint  in  the  distance,  when  a  figure  suddenly  darted 
across  the  corner  and  sped  like  a  deer  into  the  cross- 
street  and  down  toward  the  river.  Will's  motion 
to  follow  was  cut  short  by  the  restraining  hold  of 
the  officer. 

"Stay  here!"  said  the  watchman,  flinging  the 
ropes  over  into  the  cemetery  driveway  and  rushing 
away  in  pursuit  of  the  person  running. 

His  order  was  idle,  of  course,  for  Horace  and 
Will  were  off  like  the  wind.  Lighter  of  foot,  more 
fleet,  and  younger,  they  overtook  and  passed  the 
watchman  in  no  time.  Will  took  the  lead,  and  they 
ran  through  Second  Street,  down  First  Avenue, 
across  Bond  and  Bleecker,  through  Houston,  down 
Avenue  A,  as  if  they  were  themselves  the  pursued. 
From  one  point  or  another  they  were  joined  by 
others,  so  that  before  long  an  indefinite  number  of 
men  had  joined  them,  each  running  because  the 
others  did,  and  no  one,  excepting  William  Hedges, 
knowing  what  for.  The  officer  was  following,  occa 
sionally  giving  signals  for  other  watchmen,  by  ring 
ing  his  club  upon  the  pavement,  but  he  had  lost 
track  of  the  object  of  his  chase. 

Presently  Will,  having  gone  as  far  as  his  purpose 
required,  slackened  his  speed,  allowing  the  runners 
to  pass  him.  Horace  thought  Will  was  giving  up 
the  chase,  but  suddenly,  in  the  neighborhood  of 


A  VIOLIN,  AND  SHADOWS.  311 

Grand  Street,  lie  wheeled  around  and  with  all  his 
speed  ran  in  the  direction  of  up  town.  Back,  across 
Houston,  Bleecker,  and  Bond,  he  turned  at  First 
Street  and  ran  eastward.  At  Avenue  C  he  slowed 
again  and  stopped,  dropping  upon  the  doorstep  of  a 
tenement  house  to  recover  breath.  Horace  leaned 
against  the  railing,  panting  and  blowing.  For  a  mo 
ment  neither  of  them  could  speak,  but  Will  kept  his 
eyes  in  the  direction  of  the  river.  Horace  pointed 
south  and  panted,  "They  all  went  that  way." 

"I  know  —  wait!  We're  —  wasting  time," 
gasped  Will. 

"Of  —  course  we  are  —  we  —  have  n't  been  —  do 
ing —  anything  else,"  Horace  panted.  Will  got  up 
and  leaned  against  a  lamp-post,  still  looking  toward 
the  river. 

"What  did  we  run  for,  anyway?  "  Horace  asked, 
as  they  walked  eastward,  and,  a  sense  of  the  absurd 
ity  striking  him,  he  broke  into  peals  of  laughter. 
"Such  a  ridiculous  chase!"  he  exclaimed  between 
the  peals.  "Ha!  ha!  ha!  Hedges  &  Desborough, 
in  a  panic  to  get  back  their  neighbor's  spoons,  — 
ha!  ha!  rush  hopelessly  after  the  thief  and  leave 
their  neighbor's  premises  unprotected!  Their  back 
door  is  probably  open,  you  know,  and  their  kitchen 
full  of  burglars  this  very  minute.  Don't  you  think 
it  would  serve  our  neighbors'  interests  as  well,  part 
ner,  if  we  went  back  and  protected  the  remaining 
property,  to  say  nothing  of  their  lives?" 

But  Will  did  not  seem  to  hear  what  Horace  was 
talking  about.  "Look  ahead!  You  watch  the 
right  side  and  I  '11  watch  the  left  of  the  next  block," 
he  said. 


312  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

"All  right!"  said  Horace.  "I  will  hold  on  to 
my  part  in  the  drama  as  long  as  it  entertains  you, 
old  chap.  I  'd  like  to  understand  my  role  a  little 
better,  though;  are  we  to  make  a  rush  and  collar 
the  villain,  when  we  overtake  him,  and  call  for  the 
police?" 

"No, — collar  the  watch  and  save  the  villain," 
said  Will  in  a  low  tone.  "I  don't  like  to  speak  my 
mind  in  the  open  street,  but,  —  if  the  villain  is  the 
person  who  climbed  over  the  cemetery  wall,  he  —  or 
she  —  started  from  a  place  suggestive  of  something 
beside  burglary.  I  —  come  nearer  —  I  believe  she  's 
a  fugitive  —  Havilah  herself,  perhaps !  What  those 
men  said  about  somebody  pointing  out  'the  nigger's  ' 
sent  my  mind,  like  a  shot,  over  to  Scipio's.  That 
child  is  there,  —  and  the  person  running  away  to 
night  is  —  sh !  —  a  woman,  Desborough !  " 

"Hm!  so!"  said  Horace.  "Don't  worry,  I'll 
be  guarded  in  my  remarks,  —  then  your  mind  is 
where  the  watchman's  landed,  —  on  Juliet.  Eomeo 
wouldn't  have  needed  such  elaborate  ladders,  and 
he  would  never  have  'left  'em  behint  for  ivvy- 
dence;  '  I'm  inclined  to  believe  that  it  was  Juliet 
who  went  from  our  neighbor's  to  visit  the  tombs, 
and  that  the  lady  whom  you  have  observed  is  identi 
cal  with  her." 

They  walked  half  a  block  farther  and  then  simul 
taneously  halted  and  stepped  under  the  low  shed 
of  a  dilapidated  little  building  on  the  corner.  A 
woman  appeared  half  a  block  ahead  of  them,  hurry 
ing  toward  the  river. 

"Don't  let  her   see    us,"   said   Will.     "She'll 


A  VIOLIN,  AND  SHADOWS.  313 

think  we  're  after  her.  We  '11  head  her  off,  if  we 
can." 

They  dodged  rapidly  and  cautiously,  in  and  out 
among  the  shadows,  but  when  they  came  out  upon 
the  low  buildings  and  wharves  along  the  river  edge, 
the  woman  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Once  more 
they  stood  concealed,  in  the  shadow  of  a  pile  of  old 
casks. 

"After  all,  she  may  not  have  been  Juliet,"  whis 
pered  Horace  presently.  "She  may  be  anybody, 
you  know,  and  have  gone  into  some  shanty." 

"She  is  the  person  whom  we  have  followed  from 
the  first,"  Will  whispered,  "and  she  is  escaping 
from  something." 

"She  is"- 

"God!  Look  at  her!  "  cried  Horace,  in  an  awful 
whisper. 

At  the  end  of  a  long  wharf  in  front  of  them,  for 
the  flash  of  a  second  the  woman's  figure  appeared, 
outlined  against  the  sky.  She  ran  along  the  edge 
of  the  dock  and  then,  with  a  wild  gesture,  gave  a 
leap  into  the  darkness  and  was  gone. 

The  only  cry  was  from  the  two  young  men  who 
saw  her.  They  rushed  to  where  she  had  been  and 
stood  for  an  instant  looking  down  at  the  water,  black 
and  dreadful  in  the  great  shadow  of  the  dock. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  heard  except  the  heavy 
plashing  of  the  tide.  Will  and  Horace  listened 
painfully  for  a  cry  or  sound  to  tell  them  where  to 
look  for  the  desperate  woman.  They  were  certain 
that  she  had  leaped  into  the  water.  She  was  drown 
ing,  and  they  could  see  no  sign  or  trace  to  help  them 


314  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

save  her.  Their  coats  and  shoes  were  off;  Will, 
clinging  to  a  log,  climbed  down  over  the  edge  of  the 
wharf  and  stood  on  a  projecting  beam  peering  into 
the  shadows. 

"Don't  do  anything  crazy  —  think  of  Grace!" 
cried  Horace,  over  him.  "Come  back!  We  must 
find  a  rope."  Will  leaped  back  with  the  aid  of 
Horace's  hand  and  they  looked  for  a  rope.  They 
could  not  find  one  and  for  a  few  minutes  ran  des 
perately  back  and  forth  trying  to  see  or  hear  some 
thing.  There  was  nothing  but  silence  and  black 
ness,  which  were  ghastly.  How  long  they  were 
there  they  did  not  know.  Every  minute  seemed  an 
eternity. 

"Come  home,  Will,  come  home!  "  Horace  begged 
at  last.  "There  's  nothing  we  can  do  now.  For 
God's  sake  come  home,  and  may  this  everlasting 
night  end  sometime! " 


CHAPTER   XX. 

DANGER. 

THE  first  thing  which  Will  and  Horace  did  the 
next  morning,  after  an  early  breakfast,  was  to  call 
upon  Friend  Holly  and  give  him  a  full  account  of 
their  experiences  of  the  night.  To  their  surprise 
they  found  no  ground  upon  which  to  base  the  sus 
picion  that  the  poor  creature  whom  they  had  seen 
throw  herself  from  the  dock  was  a  runaway  slave. 
Friend  Holly  had  had  no  occasion  to  harbor  a  fugi 
tive  for  several  weeks.  Havilah  Moore  was  staying 
at  the  Mortons',  and  there  had  been  no  intimation 
whatever  that  her  master  was  again  in  pursuit  of 
her.  On  the  evening  before,  she  had  brought  a 
note  from  Mrs.  Morton  to  Mrs.  Holly,  but,  as  it  re 
quired  no  answer,  had  not  waited.  Friend  Holly 
questioned  the  servant  who  had  admitted  her,  and 
she  said  definitely  that  she  had  seen  Havilah  go, 
and  that  "she  should  think  everybody  in  the  house 
might  have  heard  her  bang  the  door  after  her." 
Friend  Holly's  servant  was  cross  and  grumbled, 
"That  Hav'lah  always  slams  the  door  after  her; 
she  ain't  got  no  manners,  an'  she  never  did  have 
any." 

The  yard  was  examined  and  unmistakable  traces 
of  some  intruder  were  discovered.  The  ladder  had 


316  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

been  moved  from  its  place,  the  vines  disturbed  and 
broken,  and  the  clothesline  had  disappeared. 

After  a  little  consultation  Friend  Holly  and  the 
young  men  decided  that  the  yard  had  been  used  as 
a  convenient  workshop  for  the  maker  of  the  rope 
ladders,  but  this  was  the  only  conclusion  which  they 
reached. 

The  woman  who  had  thrown  herself  from  the 
wharf  was  probably  some  unhappy,  desperate  crea 
ture  who  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  person  who 
climbed  the  graveyard  wall.  There  were  plenty  of 
them,  poor  souls,  to  spring  up  from  almost  anywhere 
in  a  big  city.  Of  course,  inquiry  as  to  Havilah  had 
better  be  made  at  once,  but  the  chance  was  that  she 
was  safe  at  Friend  Morton's. 

The  young  men  started  upon  the  business  of  the 
day,  Will  to  the  office  of  Messrs.  Hedges  &  Desbor- 
ough,  Horace  up  town  to  make  a  business  call  upon 
a  client.  It  was  difficult  to  get  his  mind  into  work 
ing  order,  and  he  was  rather  glad  not  to  find  his 
client  at  home.  He  started  to  walk  down  town  to 
his  office  and  was  glad  of  the  extra  distance  made 
by  his  errand.  Reaching  Union  Square,  he  went 
through  one  of  the  gates  in  the  high  iron  fence 
which  enclosed  the  park  circle.  Just  as  he  did  so, 
Rachel  Stan  wood  entered  the  park  by  another  gate, 
with  her  little  brother  and  sister.  She  was  carrying 
several  parcels  hugged  against  her  left  side  and  the 
children  stopped  her  to  add  their  two  small  lunch- 
baskets  which  they  wanted  her  to  hold  while  they 
had  a  little  play.  Rachel  caught  sight  of  Horace 
and  instinctively  wanted  to  avoid  letting  him  see  her 
so  awkwardly  encumbered. 


DANGER.  317 

Impulsively  she  turned  to  put  the  children  off, 
and  exclaimed  a  little  nervously,  "  Wait !  Perhaps 
we  had  better  not  stop  this  morning.  I  '11  come 
with  you  to  "  Betty  protested,  "Thee  said 

there  'd  be  more  than  twenty  minutes  if  we  would  n't 
poke,  and  we  hurried  like  everything,  and  I  know 
something  '11  happen  to-morrow!  " 

Rachel  could  not  hear  what  Betty  said,  because 
Dick  was  pleading  in  a  shrill  voice,  "Oh,  do  stop, 
Strachel "  -  his  abbreviation  of  "  Sister  Eachel "  — 
"  Betty  has  made  up  a  lovely  play  all  on  horseback, 
and  they  're  trimming  the  bushes  so  we  can  get 
splendid  whips,  and  I  'm  going  to  make  my  horse 
canter  like  cr-acky!  "  The  children's  faces  looked 
as  if  their  last  hope  of  salvation  hung  upon  their 
sister's  consent.  She  did  not  hear  half  they  said, 
but  resigned  herself  to  a  pitiful  sort  of  martyrdom 
of  which  they  were  totally  unconscious.  She  looked 
at  Horace  and  thought  he  had  never  looked  more 
noble,  more  like  Susy  Morton's  "Lord  Duke." 
She  was  conscious  of  the  mended,  rubbed  finger-tips 
of  her  gloves,  and  her  faded  summer's  bonnet.  The 
lunch  baskets  were  the  last  straw.  One  was  too 
full,  so  that  the  cover  would  not  go  down,  and  the 
other  had  a  missing  handle  supplied  with  a  piece 
of  red  tape;  it  looked,  moreover,  as  if  Dick  had 
supplied  it  himself.  Rachel's  martyrdom  was  pa 
thetic  ;  a  young  girl  minds  such  things.  She  might 
easily  have  retreated  through  the  gateway,  close  by. 
But  the  family  principles  prevented  her.  They  laid 
down  the  laws  of  morality  with  severity,  and  re 
fused  to  those  of  conventionality  even  so  much  as  a 


318  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

hearing.  "Do  nothing  you  are  ashamed  to  have 
the  eye  of  the  world  look  upon,"  they  said.  They 
were  very  noble,  but  at  times  very  uncomfortable 
principles.  Rachel's  heart  ached  to  set  them  aside 
just  long  enough  to  hide  her  parcels  and  her  shabbi- 
ness  from  Horace;  then,  despising  herself  for  the 
wish,  she  rather  forced  them  upon  him. 

"Ra —  Miss  Stanwood!"  he  exclaimed  joyfully, 
with  his  hand  extended.  "Good-morning!  Where 
are  you  going?  On  a  picnic?" 

"It  looks  like  it,"  she  said  laughing,  and  ex 
plained.  "No,  no!  "  she  exclaimed,  as  he  was  tak 
ing  possession  of  the  baskets.  "You  shall  not  be 
victimized;  I  am  used  to  it,  but  you  are  not." 

"It  is  time  I  was  then,"  he  said,  taking  all  the 
things  from  her,  with  quiet  authority.  "Don't  be 
unkind!" 

"It  isn't  unkindness;  it  is  justice,"  she  said. 
"There  is  no  reason  why  I  should  put  my  burdens 
upon  you." 

"Is  there  not?  "  he  asked,  catching  her  words  up 
quickly.  "You  are  unkind  again,  for  I  want  there 
to  be  every  reason.  Some  day  "  — 

It  was  hard  to  stop,  but  he  made  himself  do  it. 

She  was  rosy  red,  and  her  happy  eyes  betrayed  the 
pleasure  it  was  to  be  in  his  company.  The  family 
principles  were  already  forgotten,  and  could  not,  by 
any  possibility,  trouble  either  of  these  young  people. 
Horace  had  to  remember  vigorously  that  his  busi 
ness  did  not  at  present  justify  anything  like  serious 
love-making.  He  reminded  himself  sharply  that  he 
had  better  prove  his  ability  to  manage  his  own  bur- 


DANGER.  .  319 

dens  before  he  asked  for  the  responsibility  of  Miss 
Rachel  Stanwood's.  So  he  looked  at  the  bundles 
and  the  shabby  little  baskets  and  turned  his  talk 
into  banter. 

"I  don't  call  it  either  kind  or  just  in  you  to  infer 
that  it  is  out  of  my  line  to  make  myself  useful," 
he  said.  "You  gave  me  a  magnificent  drilling  at 
the  time  of  the  Anti-Slavery  Fair,  and  I  have  had 
a  number  of  lessons  since.  Haven't  I  a  talisman 
which  commemorates  my  skill  in  threading  a  net 
ting-needle?  If  my  hands  were  not  full,  I  'd  show 
it  to  you.  No,"  —holding  the  baskets  up  beyond 
her  reach, — "you  may  not  have  them.  I  insist 
upon  being  trusted  without  proof.  You  must  be 
lieve  that  I  have  my  talisman  in  safe-keeping,  and 
also  that  I  am  a  working  member  of  society  and 
have  begun  to  take  life  seriously." 

"Well,  you  are  taking  it  very  unornamentally 
this  morning,  to  say  the  least,"  Rachel  said  gayly. 
"But  I  decline  to  be  responsible.  You  might  easily 
say  that  pressing  business  obliges  you  to  hurry  down 
town  to  the  office  of  Messrs.  Hedges  &  Desborough. 
I  should  believe  it,  you  know." 

"And  now  you  are  getting  sarcastic,"  Horace 
said,  laughing.  "I  have  just  been  to  call  on  my 
only  client  and  my  work  on  his  case  will  barely  oc 
cupy  me  half  an  hour  a  day  for  a  week !  My  most 
pressing  business  is  to  keep  up  a  show  of  occupation 
sufficient  to  maintain  the  respect  of  our  office  boy, 
Master  Dennis  Dougherty.  And  that  is  not  so 
pressing  as  it  is  difficult  and  complicated." 

They  laughed  together,  and  he  went  on  amusing 


320  EACHEL  STANWOOD. 

her  with  an  exaggerated  tale  of  the  devices  resorted 
to  by  Messrs.  Hedges  &  Desborough  to  give  their 
office  an  aspect  of  business. 

In  the  midst  of  his  account,  Betty  and  Dick  came 
cantering  up  to  them  on  imaginary  horses.  Their 
play  was  anything  but  graceful.  Betty's  efforts  to 
represent  a  superb  and  graceful  rider  wrere  marred 
by  the  necessity  of  making  her  legs  do  duty  for 
the  horse,  and  her  prancing  was  ungainly.  Dick 
shouted  and  hallooed  in  his  character  of  rider,  but 
as  a  fiery  steed  he  reared,  plunged,  balked,  and 
stamped  until  he  rolled  over  on  the  edge  of  one  of 
the  grass  plots  and  broke  down  in  fits  of  laughter. 
Betty,  as  she  suddenly  caught  sight  of  Horace, 
worked  her  features  into  astonishing  grimaces,  to 
cover  her  embarrassment,  and  advanced  with  a  new 
and  awful  package  of  molasses  ginger-cakes  done 
up  in  a  piece  of  mustard-colored  coarse  paper. 

Rachel  said,  "Oh,  children !"  and  tried  to  dust 
off  Dick.  Dick  shared  his  fun  with  Horace  by 
laughing  up  into  his  face.  The  family  principles 
did  not  trouble  him  a  bit.  Betty  made  an  effort 
to  stuff  the  ginger-cakes  into  her  basket,  gave  it 
up  and  hugged  her  green -yellow  parcel  contentedly. 
She  innocently  accounted  for  it  to  Rachel,  saying,  — 

"We  found  an  old  woman  outside  one  of  the 
gates,  over  the  other  side,  with  a  stand  full  of  pea 
nuts  and  cakes  and  things,  and  I  bought  these  for 
Mr.  Jacob  Abbott  because  he  is  going  to  read  a 
story  specially  for  Emily  Brinckeroff  and  me." 

"/bought  taffy;  want  a  bite?  "  said  Dick,  hold 
ing  it  up  to  Horace. 


DANGER.  321 

Here  Rachel  interfered  with  decision  and,  after  a 
short  altercation,  confiscated  the  candy  as  forbidden 
fruit,  gave  the  children  their  baskets  and  said  that 
it  was  time  to  go  to  school. 

"So,  Mr.  Desborough,  will  you  give  me  my 
things  now?  "  she  asked. 

o 

Horace  refused,  saying  that,  having  assumed  the 
responsibility  of  them,  he  meant  to  carry  them  to 
their  destinations,  unless  she  forbade  him. 

"Ah,  you  would  not  like  to  be  held  to  that  bar 
gain,"  she  said,  a  shadow  of  sadness  coming  into 
her  face.  It  was  the  family  principles  reappear 
ing  to  tell  her  that  she  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  her 
fear  of  shocking  him.  She  was  loyal  and  felt  the 
shame,  but  the  fear  remained.  She  wanted  to  ap 
pear  at  her  best  before  him,  and  to  keep  out  of  sight 
things  which  would  remind  him  of  the  differences 
between  them.  She  did  not  know  that,  with  Hor 
ace's  eyes,  there  was  nothing  but  her  best  to  see. 

"  This  goes  with  the  children ;  they  branch  off  at 
the  next  corner,"  she  said,  taking  the  smallest  par 
cel  from  him.  They  stopped  at  the  corner  and  Ra 
chel  gave  the  parcel  to  Betty  with  messages  which 
divulged  the  fact  that  it  contained  a  bottle  of  cough- 
mixture  which  Mrs.  Stanwood  had  made  and  was 
sending  to  one  of  the  child's  teachers. 

Dick,  spying  some  of  his  school-fellows,  ran  to 
join  them,  while  Betty  lingered  to  kiss  her  sister 
good-by  and  to  decide  whether  or  not  politeness  re 
quired  her  to  extend  the  same  courtesy  to  Horace. 
She  liked  him  and,  deciding  it  was  safest  to  do  it, 
held  up  her  face.  Horace  bent  instantly  and  re- 


322  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

ceived  the  kiss  with  the  assertion  that  it  was  one  of 
the  sweetest  he  had  ever  been  offered,  and  Betty 
went  her  way  with  steps  quickened  by  a  happy  con 
sciousness  of  having  done  the  politest  thing,  and  the 
pleasure  in  anticipation  of  presenting  her  cakes  to 
Mr.  Jacob  Abbott. 

"  Do  you  perform  this  sisterly  office  every  morn 
ing?  "  Horace  asked,  as  they  walked  on  down  Uni 
versity  Place. 

"No,  I  come  only  when  something  brings  me  out 
early  enough,"  she  said,  not  yet  over  the  annoyance 
of  thinking  that  he  had  been  seeing  the  children 
and  her  at  a  disadvantage.  "We  don't  like  them  to 
play  alone  in  the  park,  so  I  come  sometimes  to  give 
them  the  opportunity.  They  don't  often  stop  at 
peanut-stands  to  buy  gingerbread  and  taffy."  Then 
she  was  provoked  at  herself  for  explaining. 

"I  hope  Mr.  Abbott  will  appreciate  the  ginger 
bread  as  he  ought,"  said  Horace  deftly. 

"He  will  be  so  pleased  with  my  little  sister's  at 
tention  that  he  will  not  care  where  the  cake  came 
from  or  what  it  is  like,"  said  Eachel. 

"Now,  where  do  we  go  next?"  asked  Horace,  by 
way  of  getting  back  to  something  personal.  "I 
want  to  be  held  to  my  agreement  to  take  these 
things  where  they  are  to  go." 

"They  are  going"  Rachel  began,  and  then 

protested:  "But  no  —  I  can't  take  advantage  of 
your  ignorance,  Mr.  Desborough.  You  never  went 
to  such  a  place,  and  it  would  horrify  you ;  you  must 
let  me  go  alone." 

"What  do  you  mean?     If  it  would  affect  me  so, 


DANGER.  323 

why  doesn't  it  you?  Now  you  make  me  altogether 
unwilling  to  give  up  my  bargain,  unless  you  have 
strong  personal  reasons  for  objecting,"  Horace  said, 
and  added  seriously:  "Do  you  really  not  wish  me 
to  know  where  you  are  going,  Miss  Stan  wood?" 

"I  do,  and  I  don't,"  Rachel  answered  with  frank 
ness.  "I" —  She  waited  to  let  some  noisy  vehi 
cles  go  by  and  then  told  him:  "I  don't  know  what 
you  will  think,  Mr.  Desborough,  but  I  am  going  to 
the  Tombs." 

"  Alone  ?  "  asked  Horace. 

"Yes;  I  am  taking  a  book  to  one  prisoner  and 
some  work  to  another."  Her  tone  was  a  little  hard. 
She  knew  she  was  shocking  him  and  wanted  it  over 
with. 

He  was  silent  a  moment  before  he  said :  "  That 
is  an  errand  I  can  do  for  you.  Give  me  the  names 
of  the  prisoners." 

"Oh  no,  I  cannot,"  she  said.  "I  have  some  mes 
sages  for  them  and  must  show  one  woman  how  to  do 
the  work.  Indeed  you  must  give  me  the  parcels  and 
leave  me  to  go  by  myself.  I  will  take  an  omnibus." 

"Not  quite  yet,"  he  said.  "Not  at  all,  if  I  can 
help  it.  Give  me  the  messages  and  let  the  woman 
find  out  how  to  do  the  work.  Why  should  crimi 
nals  come  in  for  the  reward  of  a  visit  from  you,  Miss 
Stanwood?  Why  should  you  go  to  a  place  where 
there  is  nothing  but  contamination  and  evil, —  evil 
which  your  eyes  should  not  look  upon?  " 

"I  am  sent  there  to  give,  not  to  receive,"  said 
Rachel.  "I  have  been  taught  that  what  I  carry 
into  the  prison  may  help  even  the  worst  there,  but 


324  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

that  I  must  bring  nothing  away  with  me.  Mother 
thinks  that  even  the  sight  of  a  young  person  some 
times  makes  the  prisoners  long  to  live  decent,  honest 
lives.  She  does  not  believe  in  preaching.  She  be 
lieves  in  giving  them  something  to  do  and  the  chance 
to  talk  with  people  who  think  there  is  a  spark  of 
something  in  them  which  is  worth  saving  —  that  they 
are  not  entirely  bad." 

"Nobody  is  entirely  bad;  we  all  believe  that," 
said  Horace.  "Everybody  believes  it,  but" 

"Yes,  everybody  believes  it,"  said  Rachel  with  a 
shade  of  bitterness.  "And  it  is  very  comfortable 
to  believe  it  as  long  as  there  is  nothing  to  do  about 
it  —  while  the  sinners  are  far  enough  away.  But, 
standing  face  to  face  with  them,  most  people  cover 
up  that  belief  so  that  the  sinners  never  suspect  it." 

"I  don't  doubt  that,"  said  Horace,  "but  it  does 
not  make  me  think  that  visiting  the  prison  and  talk 
ing  to  criminals  is  work  for  you.  It  seems  a  little 
like  setting  a  premium  on  crime.  I  am  sorry  you 
have  begun  this  work,  and  I  hope  —  I  hope  very 
much  that  your  errand  to-day  is  an  exceptional  one 
and  that  you  will  not  go  to  that  dismal  place  often 
enough  to  have  it  become  familiar  to  " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Desborough,  wait  a  moment  before  you 
go  on!  "  Rachel  cried.  She  went  on  with  a  pitiful 
courage :  "I  am  not  beginning  any  work;  I  am  only 
doing  what  I  have  done  many  times  before.  The 
inside  of  the  prison  is  perfectly  familiar  to  me  and 
the  matron  calls  me  by  my  name.  Sometimes  I  read 
stories  to  the  women.  I  can't  preach  to  them,  but 
I  can  take  them  work  and,  may  be,  a  little  encour- 


DANGER.  325 

agement  to  begin  life  in  a  new  place  when  they 
come  out.  As  I  said,  I  have  been  taught  to  bring 
nothing  away  which  belongs  inside  the  gates,  and 
I  hope  I  do  not.  I  hope  I  do  not!  " 

"You  could  not  —  it  would  be  impossible!" 
Horace  exclaimed  earnestly.  "Don't  suppose  for  a 
moment  that  I  can  think  you  could.  Only  you  are 
so  "  He  stopped  short,  not  daring  to  tell  her 
what  he  thought  she  was.  Instead  of  finishing  he 
said :  "  I  wish  you  went  to  places  from  which  you 
could  bring  away  something.  It  seems  to  me  you 
are  entitled  to  a  little  in  return  for  all  you  give. 
Are  there  not  plenty  of  other  charities?" 

"Oh  yes,  plenty,"  she  said,  a  little  wearily.  "I 
might  go  respectably  and  comfortably  into  ever  so 
many.  But  there  are  plenty  of  people  to  take  up 
those." 

They  walked  on  silently  awhile.  They  had  been 
so  much  interested  that  they  had  threaded  their  way 
among  the  people  without  looking  at  anybody,  or 
observing  the  occasional  acquaintance  of  one  or  the 
other  who  looked  at  them  for  recognition.  When 
noisy  vehicles  came  by  they  waited  and  resumed 
what  they  had  been  saying  without  going  back  in 
the  conversation.  The  tone  they  had  reached  was 
rather  a  dreary  one.  Rachel  had  a  vague  feeling 
that  her  frankness  had  robbed  her  of  something, 
that  she  had  made  him  see  her  in  a  new  light  in 
which  she  appeared  less  attractive  to  him.  She 
made  an  effort  to  get  into  a  lighter  vein. 

"It  is  of  no  use  to  try  to  place  me  where  I  don't 
belong,  Mr.  Desborough,"  she  exclaimed,  trying  to 


326  EACIIEL  STAN  WOOD. 

make  her  tone  a  cheerful  one.  "The  sympathies  of 
me  and  mine  are  naturally  attracted  by  the  lowest 
among  the  poor.  Perhaps  there  is  plebeian  blood 
in  our  veins  which  helps  us  to  understand  them. 
Perhaps  it  is  only  an  accident  that  we  are  not 
among  them  ourselves.  There!  I  have  told  you 
all  you  wanted  to  know,  and  more.  I  have  taken 
away  your  breath,  I  know,  but,"  —her  voice  grew 
serious  again,  —  "I  want  you  to  know  me  as  I  am, 
and  to  realize  how  different  my  life  is  from  yours." 

She  expected  him  to  laugh,  but  he  knitted  his 
brows  and  looked  pained,  while  he  said:  "Yes, 
there  is  a  vast  difference,"  and  sighed,  thinking 
how  far  above  him  she  was. 

Her  face  settled  into  an  expression  of  patient  sad 
ness —  the  sadder,  to  Horace's  thinking,  because 
it  seemed  familiar.  He  thought  it  was  the  result 
of  her  prison  visiting  and  an  undue  intimacy  with 
sad  aspects  of  life.  But  it  was  not ;  it  was  because 
their  talk  had  made  her  feel  herself  upon  a  plane 
which  was  different  and  set  apart  from  his.  And 
she  thought  his  remark  about  the  "vast  difference  " 
meant  that  he  felt  it  also. 

A  harsh,  grating  laugh  which  had  an  unpleas 
antly  familiar  sound,  caught  Rachel's  ear,  and  she 
involuntarily  stopped  to  look  whence  it  came.  The 
stream  of  people,  going  and  coming  in  both  direc 
tions,  made  Mr.  Desborough  and  her  draw  aside 
toward  the  houses.  As  they  did  so,  Horace  heard 
a  low  exclamation  from  Rachel,  and,  following  her 
eyes,  saw  approaching  a  gentleman  with  a  lady 
showily  dressed  leaning  upon  his  arm.  He  recog- 


DANGER.  327 

nized  Mr.  Suydan  immediately,  whom  Rachel  did 
not  see  at  once,  for  her  eyes  were  riveted  in  amaze 
ment  upon  the  face  of  the  lady  —  upon  the  sharp, 
hard  face  of  Tibbie  MacClare !  As  the  couple  drew 
near,  Mr.  Suydan  raised  his  hat  and  bowed  with  a 
show  of  great  deference. 

Tibbie,  tossing  her  head  as  high  as  it  would  go, 
looked  scornfully  at  Rachel,  flaunted  her  ribbons 
and  braceleted  arm,  and  broke  again  into  her  rat 
tling  laugh. 

"Why  did  you  allow  them  to  know  you  saw 
them?  Don't  look  after  them  —  let  us  move  on!" 
Horace  exclaimed,  in  a  vexed  tone. 

"Did  you  see  her?  It  was  Tibbie  —  Miss  Mac- 
Clare  I  What  ought  I  to  do?"  Rachel  exclaimed 
in  much  perturbation. 

"Do?"  exclaimed  Horace  indignantly.  "Walk 
on  and  widen  the  distance  between  them  and  you  as 
rapidly  as  possible.  I  don't  know  the  lady,  but 
it  is  enough  that  she  is  in  that  man's  company." 

Rachel  was  looking  at  him  with  dazed  eyes  and  a 
face  full  of  trouble.  She  went  on  anxiously,  as  if 
her  mind  were  feeling  its  way  to  something.  "  But 
it  was  Tibbie. !  Tibbie  was  with  him!  She  ran 
away  from  us  and  she  hadn't  any  money  — not  a 
penny!  We  have  been  pitying  her  for  fear  she 
would  suffer  from  want.  But  she  has  plenty !  She 
was  dressed  like  a  rich  lady !  And  how  did  he  find 
her?" 

These  thoughts  puzzled  her  while  they  walked  on 
rapidly  for  a  block  or  two.  Then  a  sudden  alarm 
seized  her,  and  she  exclaimed:  "Oh,  Mr.  Desbor- 


328  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

ough,  there  is  something  dreadful  behind  this! 
Take  me  where  I  can  tell  you,  without  losing  time." 

They  turned  into  a  side  street.  "This  will  take 
us  away  from  the  roar  of  Broadway,"  Horace  said. 

"I  know  what  it  means  now,"  Rachel  said  has 
tily.  "He  has  found  Havilah!  Or  Diana!  That 
is  why  he  looked  so  wickedly  glad.  And  Tibbie  has 
helped  him  somehow.  She  knew  that  little  Di  was 
at  Uncle  Scipio's,  and  she  had  been  there  twice  and 
knew  the  way."  Horace  tried  to  remember  what  it 
was  that  Will  and  he  had  heard  those  two  men  say 
when  they  were  at  the  cemetery  gate.  Will  had 
connected  it  with  Scipio's  at  once. 

"  Where  should  we  go  to  learn  what  to  do  about 
it,  Miss  Stanwood?  "  he  asked  suddenly. 

"Centre  Street,  the  Anti-Slavery  Standard  office," 
said  Eachel.  "  We  must  tell  them  there  that  Havi- 
lah's  master  is  in  the  city,  Mr.  Desborough,"  —  she 
drew  nearer  to  speak  confidentially, — "Havilah  has 
disappeared!  Susy  Morton  came  early  to  tell  us. 
We  must  go  the  quickest  way  to  the  office." 

Horace  only  assented.  He  made  no  answer  to 
what  she  had  told  him,  but  it  set  his  thoughts  into 
a  whirlwind.  Havilah  gone !  Then  —  He  was 
too  much  excited  to  think  of  the  circumstances  and 
make  them  coherent. 

They  went  back  to  Broadway  and  took  an  omni 
bus  for  down-town.  In  the  rattle  of  it  they  could 
not  converse,  and  had  time  for  thought.  Horace 
recalled  now  what  those  two  men  had  said.  Their 
words  fitted  into  Rachel's  suspicions,  certainly,  but 
he  did  not  know  whether  or  not  to  connect  the  woman 


DANGER.  329 

whom  Will  and  he  had  followed  the  night  before 
with  Havilah.  They  could  not  be  one  and  the  same, 
if  the  former  was  the  person  who  had  climbed  over 
the  graveyard  wall,  for  Havilah  had  left  Friend 
Holly's  long  before.  What  Rachel  had  told  him 
about  her  visits  to  the  prison  was  making  just  this 
difference  to  him  —  until  then  he  had  had  no  thought 
of  telling  her  the  story  of  the  night  before,  but  he 
was  now  considering  the  advisability  of  doing  so. 
He  was  glad  of  the  fact  which,  half  an  hour  ago,  he 
had  deplored  —  that  he  had  plenty  of  time  to  throw 
away. 

At  the  Anti-Slavery  Standard  office  they  found 
Friend  Morton,  a  short,  stout  Quaker  gentleman, 
closely  shaved  and  very  trig  and  neat  in  appearance, 
wearing  the  plain  gray  clothes  of  his  sect.  Rachel 
in  pretty  Quaker  fashion  introduced  Horace,  saying : 
"This  is  my  friend,  Horace  Desborough, " and  with 
out  pause  she  added:  "We  have  just  seen  Hav 
ilah 's  master,  and  I  think  he  has  found  her,  Uncle 
John ;  I  feel  sure  that  he  has !  " 

"Ah!  "  Friend  Morton  exclaimed,  and  made  no 
other  remark,  excepting  to  ask  a  few  questions  to 
draw  from  Rachel  and  Horace  the  assurance  of  their 
recognition  of  Mr.  Suydan.  Satisfied  on  this  point, 
Friend  Morton  went  to  the  door  of  another  room, 
and  summoning  a  middle-aged,  dark  mulatto  man 
whom  he  called  "Napoleon,"  gave  him  a  slip  of 
paper  upon  which  he  had  scribbled  something,  and 
said  to  him  quietly :  "  Send  that  through  the  same 
list."  Coming  back,  smiling  and  rubbing  his  hands, 
he  said:  "Now,  my  young  friends,  if  you  have  any 


330  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

further  information  to  give,  let  us  have  it.  Thee 
looks  surprised,  Horace,  but  Rachel  understands 
our  ways  better." 

Horace  said:  "I  am  learning  some  of  them,  Mr. 
Morton,  and  if  you  will  tell  me  of  anything  to  be 
done  in  this  matter,  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  it.  There 
seems  to  be  no  time  to  lose.  AVhat  steps  do  you 
propose  to  take  first?  If  there  is  anywhere  to  go, 
or  you  have  any  messages  to  send,  I  am  at  your 
service." 

Friend  Morton's  benevolent  face  wrinkled  all 
over, with  a  smile  of  satisfaction  as  he  said:  "Louis 
Napoleon  is  taking  all  the  steps  which  are  necessary 
to  begin  with,  and  he  has  very  quick  legs  for  the  ser 
vice.  Ha!  ha!"  laughed  the  old  gentleman,  "Thou 
art  not  the  first  person  whom  I  have  surprised  with 
an  announcement  like  that.  Sit  down,  sit  down,  and 
I  will  tell  thee  what  Napoleon  is  doing."  He  drew 
up  chairs,  and,  when  they  were  seated,  said  with 
relish :  "  The  colored  man  who  was  here  a  moment 
ago  was  named  Napoleon  Lewis,  but  in  compliment 
to  the  Emperor  of  France  he  has  transposed  his 
name  and  altered  the  spelling,  calling  himself  'Louis 
Napoleon.'  It  is  really  a  great  compliment  to  the 
Emperor,  who  is  vastly  inferior  in  character  to  my 
friend  Louis.  But  now,  as  thee  said,  there  is  no 
time  to  lose,  and  I  see  thou  art  anxious.  As  soon 
as  we  knew  of  Havilah  Moore's  disappearance,  we 
telegraphed  the  word  '  Disappeared  '  to  all  of  our 
principal  employees  on  the  underground  railroad, 
and  signed  her  initials,  H.  M.  The  moment  I  was 
assured  that  your  information  concerning  her  mas- 


DANGER.  331 

ter  was  correct,  I  sent  Napoleon  off  with  another 
message, — 'Kidnappers  abroad,'  signed  with  the 
same  initials,  to  send  through  the  same  list.  That 
is  all.  Everybody  receiving  those  telegrams  will  be 
on  the  alert  to  harbor  and  protect  any  slave  bearing 
a  name  beginning  with  those  letters,  and  Havilah's 
master  may  have  difficulty  in  getting  her  away  from 
the  city.  We  have  as  yet  discovered  no  legal  flaw 
in  his  claim  of  her  and  her  child,  but  we  may  be 
able  to  rescue  her  without.  And  now,  if  thee  does 
not  object,  I  would  like  to  hear  again  the  experi 
ence  which  thee  and  William  Hedges  had  last  night. 
Friend  Holly  has  been  here  this  morning  and  told 
me  of  it,  but  I  want  to  go  over  it  again.  When 
Friend  Holly  learned  that  Havilah  had  gone,  he 
was  disposed  to  think  that  she  might  have  been, 
after  all,  the  woman  whom  you  followed ;  and  the 
fact  of  her  master  being  in  the  city  gives  still  more 
reason  for  the  possibility." 

The  old  gentleman  adjusted  his  spectacles  and 
prepared  to  take  notes  of  the  important  details  of 
the  story.  Horace  told  it  carefully. 

Rachel  kept  her  e}^es  fixed  upon  him,  and  her 
cheeks  burned  with  excitement.  In  the  first  part  of 
his  story  she  added  several  questions  to  those  which 
Friend  Morton  asked,  but  from  the  point  where 
Horace  and  Will  left  their  boarding-house,  she  did 
not  speak. 

When  Horace  came  to  the  tragic  scene  at  the 
wharf,  he  turned  to  her  and  said,  as  if  it  hurt  him 
to  go  on :  "This  is  painful  for  you.  Why  need  you 
hear  it?" 


332  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

"I  ^va?^t  to  hear  it,"  she  said,  a  little  sharply  be 
cause  of  the  emotion  she  concealed.  "  The  poor  girl 
was  the  one  who  suffered,  whoever  she  was  and  what 
ever  she  had  done  —  who  am  /  that  I  can't  even 
hear  about  her?  " 

She  half  turned  from  him  as  she  spoke,  leaned  her 
arm  upon  a  table  and  shaded  her  eyes  with  her  hand. 
Through  the  rest  of  his  story  he  could  not  see  her 
face. 

When  he  had  finished,  Friend  Morton  looked 
grave  and  sat  a  few  minutes  in  deep  thought.  Then, 
with  a  gesture  as  if  he  hopelessly  put  something 
aside,  he  heaved  a  sigh  and  said :  "  Well,  in  all  prob 
ability  the  telegrams  will  be  of  no  use.  It  looks  to 
me  as  if  the  poor  creature  were  Havilah,  and  as  if 
she  had  taken  her  life.  She  has  said  repeatedly  that 
she  would  do  it  rather  than  go  back  to  slavery. 
Poor  child !  Poor  child !  I  think  she  is  with  her 
rightful  Master  at  last." 

"No!"    exclaimed    Rachel,  rising    and    excited. 

"That  was   somebody   else.     It  was   Havilah  who 

escaped  over  the  wall.     She  tied  the  ropes  and  all, 

and  she  was  caught  by  those  men !     I  feel  sure  of  it 

-I  know  it!" 

Her  voice  trembled  as  she  spoke,  and  she  went  to 
the  window  and  stood  with  her  back  to  Friend  Mor 
ton  and  Horace. 

Horace  went  over  to  her  and  said  earnestly:  "I 
think  you  are  mistaken,  but  if  you  wish  it  I  will  do 
anything,  go  anywhere  you  tell  me.  I  will  try  with 
all  the  power  I  have  to  find  and  rescue  Havilah ;  only 
don't  grieve  about " 


DANGER.  333 

She  turned  quickly  and  fixed  her  wide-open  eyes 
upon  him  while  she  said  with  spirit :  "  Grieve  ?  Let 
us  try  to  find  Havilah  first.  There  '11  be  time 
enough  to  cry  when  we  either  succeed  or  fail  in 
doing  that." 

She  went  back  to  Friend  Morton  and  was  vehe 
ment  in  asserting  that  the  slaveholder  was  the  person 
who  knew  where  Havilah  was,  and  that  he  ought  to 
be  found  and  watched. 

"His  name  is  on  some  hotel  book,  no  doubt,"  said 
Friend  Morton,  "and  there  will  be  no  harm  in 
watching  his  movements,  but  I  am  of  opinion,  Ra 
chel  child,  that  the  person  with  whom  you  saw  him 
caused  that  peculiar  expression  of  satisfaction  which 
has  so  impressed  itself  upon  thy  imagination.  After 
the  story  which  thy  friend  Horace  has  told  me,  I 
think  the  chances  are  very  small  that  anybody  will 
find  Havilah." 

But  Rachel  was  persistent.  Her  mind  had  seized 
upon  a  little  point  which  seemed  to  the  others  insig 
nificant,  but  which,  to  her,  identified  the  person  who 
had  escaped  through  the  cemetery  as  Havilah.  It 
was  the  little  speech  of  the  servant  at  Friend  Holly's 
about  Havilah 's  leaving  the  house. 

"All  you  know  is  that  the  servant  said  Havilah 
banged  the  door  after  her  when  she  went  out,"  Ra 
chel  argued.  "You  all  seem  to  imagine  that  the 
cook  waited  upon  Havilah  to  the  street  door  !  I  tell 
you  that  the  cook  is  an  ignorant,  cross  Irish  woman 
who  hates  the  sight  of  a  colored  person,  and  I  don't 
believe  she  so  much  as  looked  at  Havilah  while  she 
was  in  the  house.  She  probably  banged  the  kitchen 


334  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

door  herself,  as  soon  as  Havilah  left  the  room.  Or 
Havilah  might  have  banged  the  front  door  purposely, 
to  make  the  cook  think  she  had  gone.  But  what 
ever  she  did  first,  I  believe  she  went  back  into  the 
yard  afterwards,  and  that  it  was  she  whom  you  saw, 
Mr.  Desborough,  in  the  dark  corner  there." 

She  was  so  urgent  that  Friend  Morton  decided  to 
let  things  proceed  on  the  assumption  that  her  theory 
was  correct.  After  its  own  method  the  Anti-Slavery 
Society  would  discover  Mr.  Suydan's  whereabouts, 
if  possible,  and  be  on  the  watch  to  see  if  he  at 
tempted  to  take  Havilah  out  of  the  city. 

"And  meanwhile,  Rachel,"  said  Friend  Morton, 
"continue  on  thy  way.  Go  perform  thy  mission  at 
the  Tombs  and  take  thy  friend  with  thee.  If  Hav 
ilah  has  been  captured,  it  is  more  than  likely  that 
her  master  has  placed  her  in  prison  for  safe  keeping 
until  he  is  ready  to  start  for  the  South.  The  keepers 
will  let  you  make  a  tour  of  the  prison,  on  pretense 
of  showing  it  to  Horace.  Don't  betray  your  pur 
pose.  If  you  find  Havilah  there,  come  immediately 
back  here,  and  we  shall  know  what  to  do  next." 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

HAVILAH. 

BEFORE  daybreak  on  that  same  morning,  Scipio 
Franklin,  in  his  little  shanty  at  Gowanus,  disturbed 
his  wife's  best  sleep  by  getting  his  feet  so  entangled 
with  the  rockers  of  a  chair  as  to  cause  it  to  swing 
and  turn  as  if  it  had  twenty  rockers,  and  to  stop  it 
self  with  a  smart  bang  against  the  bedpost. 

"Lawd,  what's  dat?"  cried  Peggy,  sitting  up 
right  with  a  bounce. 

"Sh-sh-sh!     Doan  make  a  noise!  "  said  Scipio. 

"Massy  sakes!"  said  Peggy,  lowering  her  voice 
into  a  stage-whisper.  "What  yo'  wakin'  me  up  fo' 
in  de  dead  o'  eight  to  tell  me  dat,  an'  makin'  no'se 
nuff  yo'se'f  to  wake  de  hull  grabeyahd!  " 

" Sh-sh-sh!  "  said  Scipio,  with  a  sound  like  the  let 
ting  off  of  steam,  and  jabbing  with  a  carpet  slipper 
at  the  gleam  of  his  wife's  nightcap.  "  Hoi'  yo'  bref ! 
Dey  's  sump'm  de  matta  wid  Willum  Lloyd  Gah'son 
outen  de  bahn,  an'  I  'm  gwine  dah  to  fin'  out  what 
'tis." 

Peggy  turned  herself  on  a  pivot  and  sat  on  the 
edge  of  the  bed  while  she  protested  vehemently: 
"Yo'  Scipio  'Dolphus  Franklin,  yo'  better  look  out 
fo'  yo'  own  bones,  an'  leab  Willum  Lloyd  Gah'son 
to  ten'  to  hisse'f,  afo'  yo'  go  to  wuk  onlockin'  de 


336  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

house-do'  an?  lettin'  de  bloodhoun's  an'  robbers  in 
yer!  An'  I  tell  yo'  doan  do  it  ef  yo'  knows  whar 
yo'  senses  is! " 

"My  senses  lias  a  diff'rent  'pinion,  Peggy,  an' 
dey  makes  a  p'ticklar  'quest  datyo'  woan'  interfeah 
wid  'em,"  said  Scipio. 

"Hm !  "  grunted  Peggy.  "Den  I  reck'n  I  better 
gib  'em  some  can'lelight  to  wuk  by."  While  she 
lighted  a  candle,  she  continued  muttering:  "Wen 
yo*  senses  gits  to  conjurin',  somebody  better  be  roun' 
to  take  hoi'  an'  help  wid  what 's  gwine  to  happen. 
Whar  is  yo',  Misteh  Franklin?"  she  asked  aloud, 
carrying  her  light  to  the  door  leading  into  the  par 
lor,  where  she  discovered  Scipio  groping.  "What  's 
yo'  huntin'?" 

"De  matches,"  said  Scipio,  blinking  at  the  light. 

"Mought  'a'  knowed  you'd  go  to  Kingdom  Come 
fur  'em!"  said  Peggy.  "W'en  yo'  fin's  out  de 
can'le  's  lit,  mebby  yo'  '11  splain  to  me  w'at  's  de 
case." 

"Dat's  jes'  w'at  I  'm  gwine  to  fin'  out,"  said 
Scipio,  putting  his  clothes  on  hastily.  "Dey  's 
sump'm  Willum  Lloyd  Gah'son  doan  'prove  ob  — 
dat  's  all  I  know.  An'  w'at  he  doan  'prove  ob 
ain't  right.  I  's  yeard  a  quar  kin'  o'  'sturbance 
two  or  free  times.  Dat's  right,  gib  me  de  lantun." 

He  took  the  lantern  she  had  lighted,  snuggled  it 
inside  of  his  coat  and  armed  himself  with  a  stout 
cane.  On  his  way  to  the  door,  in  tucking  the  cane 
under  his  arm,  he  switched  off  with  it  the  cloth 
which  Peggy  kept  over  the  bust  of  Venus,  on  its 
high  shelf  in  the  corner. 


HAVILAH.  337 

"Ya-ah!  "  cried  Peggy,  stepping  backward  into 
the  bedroom. 

Robbers  and  bloodhounds  were  remote  scarecrows 
to  Peggy,  but  the  white  head  of  Venus  was  a  reality. 

"Put  it  back  afo'  yo'  step  outen  dat  do',  Scip," 
she  said.  "Watebber's  gwine  on  at  de  bahn,  I 
ain't  gwine  to  stay  yer  'lone  wid  dat  grabeyahd- 
image  rarin'  up  its  ole  head  ober  me  !  "  Scipio  gave 
his  wife  a  look  of  scorn,  readjusted  the  cloth  over 
Venus,  and  went  out  of  the  front  door. 

Peggy  set  the  candle  on  the  bureau  in  the  bedroom 
and  proceeded  to  partially  dress  herself,  putting  on 
her  shoes  and  a  dressing-gown  which  had  the  shape 
of  an  extinguisher.  She  went  into  the  parlor,  lighted 
the  lamp,  and  then  went  to  look  out  at  the  window, 
toward  the  barn. 

She  could  see  the  gleam  of  the  lantern,  but  that 
was  all.  Everything  was  quiet.  She  decided  that 
the  only  things  out  of  kilter  were  her  husband's 
senses. 

"An'  dey  'd  be  a  heap  better  off  ef  he  'd  'lowed 
'em  to  stay  in  bed  whah  dey  b' longs  dis  time  o' 
night,"  she  grumbled. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Franklin  enjoyed  each  other's  pecu 
liarities,  and  whatever  personalities  were  bandied 
between  them  were  in  the  way  of  pleasantry.  It  was 
their  method  of  joking,  that  was  all. 

Peggy,  looking  out  of  the  window,  began  to  get 
tired  of  her  husband's  delay. 

"Wat  in  de  name  o'  Moses  is  he  stayin'  out  dah 
fo',  doin'  de  wuk  w'at  b' longs  to  to-morrow?"  she 
said  to  herself.  "  Ef  he  doan  make  no  better  use  of 


338  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

his  time  dan  dat,  lie  '11  git  into  nex'  week,  an'  den 
he  woan  know  when  he  is !  "  She  left  the  window 
and  opened  the  door  of  the  crooked  staircase  which 
led  to  the  room  where  little  Diana  slept. 

The  motion  of  the  door  stirred  the  cloth  which 
covered  Venus.  Peggy  scowled  at  the  shrouded 
head  and  her  lips  moved  with  some  mumbled  im 
precation.  She  went  up  the  stairway  a  few  steps, 
stood  a  minute,  listening  to  Diana's  regular  breath 
ing,  and  then  came  down  again.  The  boards  creaked 
frightfully.  Venus  was  so  close  to  the  stairs  that 
even  Peggy's  motion,  as  she  stepped  from  them  into 
the  parlor,  moved  the  drapery  again .  It  was  very 
light  and  stirred  with  the  faintest  breath.  Peggy 
stood  still  a  minute,  with  her  back  to  it;  from  the 
corner  of  her  eye  she  had  seen  it  move.  There  was 
not  a  sound  until  some  piece  of  furniture  in  the  next 
room  cracked. 

"Scip?"  Peggy  said  softly,  without  moving. 
"Dat  yo',  Scip?  "  Then  she  reflected  that  he  could 
not  get  into  the  house  without  her  hearing  him. 
She  associated  the  cracking  of  the  furniture  with 
footsteps,  and  that  made  her  think  she  heard  more 
of  them. 

"Dey  ain't  no  mortal  bein'  ken  git  inside  o'  dat 
room,  'ceps  dey  comes  froo  yer,"  she  reflected.  She 
strained  her  ears  for  sounds,  and  there  was  a  creak 
from  one  place,  a  knock  from  another,  and  a  scratch 
from  another. 

"  Benus  got  sump'm  to  do  wid  it !  "  Peggy  thought, 
and  turned  her  head  very  carefully  to  see  if  that  cloth 
was  moving  again.  She  was  afraid  to  move  her 


HAVILAH.  339 

body  for  fear  of  making  the  boards  creak  under  her. 
She  had  left  the  stair  door  open,  and  there  was  a 
slight  draught  from  it.  Peggy's  glare,  as  she  turned 
it  slowly,  met  a  flutter  which  the  draught  made  in 
Venus' s  covering.  It  was  the  last  straw.  Peggy's 
endurance  came  to  an  end  then  and  there.  She 
turned  with  a  swing,  went  into  the  kitchen,  unlocked 
the  door  leading  to  the  yard,  opened  it  wide  and 
placed  a  bench  against  it  to  prevent  it  from  closing. 
Then  she  lighted  her  kitchen  lamp.  There  was  de 
termination  in  her  every  step  and  motion.  Peggy 
was  going  to  have  a  settling  with  Venus.  The 
boards  might  creak,  and  the  furniture  split  itself 
with  cracking  now,  Peggy  did  not  stop  to  listen  or 
waver.  With  her  quick  movements  and  the  draughts 
that  were  let  in,  the  cloth  over  Venus  fluttered  wild 
signals  of  alarm,  and  well  it  might,  for  Venus' s  hour 
had  come.  Peggy  went  straight  from  the  kitchen 
lamp  to  the  goddess,  snatched  off  her  covering, 
grasped  the  bust  by  its  pedestal,  and  carried  it 
through  the  kitchen  out  into  the  yard.  Then,  rais 
ing  it  as  high  as  its  weight  allowed,  she  dashed  it 
down  upon  the  stone  doorstep  with  all  her  force. 
Without  waiting  to  examine  the  pieces,  she  picked 
up  the  head,  held  it  high,  and  dashed  it  down  again. 
And  so  she  did  repeatedly  until  Venus  had  not  a 
feature  left.  When  Peggy  was  assured  of  this,  she 
came  into  the  house,  locked  the  door  again,  blew  out 
her  kitchen  lamp,  and  returned  to  the  parlor.  She 
sat  down  on  her  rocking-chair,  facing  the  corner 
where  Venus  had  stood,  and  smiled  intense  satisfac 
tion  at  the  empty  shelf. 


340  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

When  Scipio  unlocked  the  door  of  the  shed  which 
was  dignified  by  being  called  a  barn,  the  mule  greeted 
him  with  sounds  which  were  unmistakably  those  of 
welcome.  Scipio  patted  him  and  examined  his  stall 
to  see  what  was  the  matter.  Everything  was  as 
usual  and  the  animal  appeared  in  good  condition. 
Scipio's  hand  stopped  on  Willum's  back,  as  he  per 
ceived  that  the  little  window  opposite  the  stall  was 
open.  It  was  one  which  was  never  used,  and  Scipio 
had  supposed  that  it  was  nailed  up.  Somebody  had 
opened  it  and  the  mule  had  recognized  that  the 
person  was  an  intruder.  Scipio  tightened  his  grasp 
on  his  stick  and  went  to  the  window  to  look  about 
and  listen.  He  immediately  suspected  that  some 
body  had  made  an  attempt  to  steal  Willum.  He 
set  the  lantern  down  on  a  barrel,  closed  the  window, 
and  fastened  it  with  a  stick  which  he  jammed  be 
tween  the  sash  and  a  beam.  He  was  reaching  for  his 
lantern  and  stick,  preparatory  to  making  an  exami 
nation  of  the  premises,  when  he  heard  his  name 
spoken  in  a  hoarse  whisper:  "Uncle  Scipio!  " 

"In  de  Lawd's  name  who  's  dat?  "  he  asked. 

"It 's  I  —  Havilah  —  oh,  Uncle  Scip !  "  answered 
the  voice,  in  distress,  repeating  his  name.  In  a  mo 
ment  Scipio  found  Havilah  half  lying  on  some  straw 
in  a  corner  of  the  shed. 

"Hab'lah!  Pore  chile,  whah  yo'  come  from?" 
Scipio  exclaimed.  She  looked  wild  and  haggard 
and  was  shaking  very  much.  She  was  leaning  on 
her  hands,  which  seemed  to  keep  the  upper  part  of 
her  body  from  falling  over.  "Whah  yo'  come 
from?"  Scipio  repeated. 


HAVILAH.  341 

"From  misery  —  from  death!"  she  said.  "Oh, 
why  didn't  I  end  it?  Why  didn't  I"-  She 
stopped,  as  if  she  did  not  know  what  she  was  saying. 
"Oh  hush,  chile!  "  said  Scipio.  In  distress  to  do 
something,  and  not  knowing  what,  he  knelt  down 
before  her  and  tried  to  pat  and  stroke  her,  as  he 
had  his  mule.  "Doan  try  to  tell  whah  yo'  's  been, 
chile,"  he  coaxed,  "nor  w'at  brung  yo'  yer.  Yo'  's 
all  right  now  yo'  's  come,  an'  we  '11  take  keer  on  yo' 
an'  make  yo'  git  some  res'.  Dah,  chile,  dah!  No 
matteh  who  's  been  arter  yo',  dey  's  druv  yo'  to  de 
right  pla—  " 

"I  saw  him,  Uncle  Scip!"  Havilah  said,  in  a 
frightened  whisper.  "He  was  in  the  street  and  I 
did  not  dare  to  go  back !  He  did  not  see  me,  but 
he  was  there.  And  she  was  with  him !  They  "  — 
"Nebber  min'  whah  dey  was,  chile!  "  said  Scipio. 
"Doan  try  to  tell  Uncle  Scip  to-night!  Yo'  's  got 
away  frum  'em!  Dey  did  n't  foller  yo'  ' 

"  Oh  yes !  Yes !  "  cried  Havilah,  suddenly  excited. 
"They  had  a  hundred  after  me,  all  the  way!  They 
chased  me  to  the  river!  They" 

"Dah!  Dah!  Now  hush,  chile,  an'  doan  let  no- 
buddy  yer  w'at  dey  did!  Hush!  Hush,  pore  chile, 
pore  chile!  " 

Scipio  drew  her  to  him  and  she  clung  to  him,  as 
if  the  hands  of  her  pursuers  were  upon  her  trying 
to  drag  her  away.  He  held  her,  rubbing  and  pat 
ting  her  still,  until  her  grasp  slackened.  He  thought 
she  was  soothed  and  was  beginning  to  urge  her  to 
go  with  him  into  the  house,  when  the  sound  of  blows 
reached  them. 


342  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

"There  they  are!  They  are  coming!"  Havi- 
lah  cried  in  fearful  whispers.  "They  '11  take  me 
now !  Oh,  Uncle  Scip,  save  Di !  Save  Di !  Save 
Di!" 

She  clung  to  him  desperately  again,  threw  her 
head  back  and  looked  at  him  in  an  agony  of  suppli 
cation.  Scipio  could  not  quiet  her  until  the  sound 
of  the  blows  ceased. 

"An'  dat  jes'  shows  how  yo'  's  outen  yo'  hade, 
pore  chile!  Yo'  's  skeered  at  yerin'  Peggy  chop  de 
wood !  "  he  said.  "An'  she  would  n't  tech  it,  ef  she 
knowed,  no  she  would  n't.  She  'd  be  out  yer,  coax- 
in'  an'  comfortin'  yo',  an'  I  wants  yo'  to  come  now 
to  whah  she  is,  Hab'lah.  Dah!  So!  Come 'long 
keerfle  —  dat 's  de  way.  Lean  on  ole  Uncle  Scip 
an'  make  yo'se'f  hebby  as  yo'  ken.  Now  stan'  still 
jes'  fer  me  to  shet  de  do'.  Dat  's  it!  Now!  I  's 
blowed  out  de  lantun  an'  dey  ain't  nobuddy  but  ole 
Aunt  Peggy  'roun  nowhahs!  " 

With  this  kind  of  talk  he  supported  Havilah  to 
the  house. 

"Tsh!  sh  —  sh!"  he  said,  silencing  Peggy's  ex 
clamations,  as  they  entered.  "Pull  down  de  shades 
an'  doan  make  no  'spressions  ob  'stonishment  —  not 
ef  yo'  sees  de  hull  chapter  comin'  in  de  house  to 
wunst!" 

Peggy  understood  in  an  instant.  She  helped  her 
husband  place  Havilah  in  the  big  rocking-chair,  and, 
as  the  poor  woman,  shivering,  buried  her  face  against 
her,  Peggy  said  cheerfully :  "Dere,  honey!  Cry  yo' 
eyes  out  fust,  dat 's  allus  de  bes'  way  to  begin. 
Light  de  fah,  Scip,  an'  put  de  kettle  on  to  bile.  She 


HAVILAH.  343 

mus'  hev  a  drink  o'  sump'm  hot,  no  matter  w'at  's 
gwine  to  happen." 

Presently,  when  she  had  taken  some  tea,  Havilah 
revived  a  little.  Her  wild  terror  disappeared,  and 
she  seemed  to  feel  that  she  was  in  a  place  of  safety. 

"  I  am  here,  with  you,  Aunt  Peggy  —  in  yore 
home  —  ain't  I?  "  she  asked  for  reassurance. 

"To  be  sure  yo'  is,  honey!  "  said  Peggy  tenderly. 
"An'  yo'  's  as  safe  yer,  wid  Uncle  Scip  an'  me,  as 
if  yo'  was  dead  an'  buried." 

"Oh,  if  I  only  was!  If  I  only  was!  "  Havilah 
moaned.  "If  it  wasn't  for  Di,  Aunt  Peggy,"  she 
said,  with  sudden  hardness,  "I  'd  be  in  the  river 
now,  I  would !  " 

"But  it  is  for  Di!  "  cried  Peggy,  catching  at  the 
words.  "It  is  for  Di,  honey!  Yo'  's  in  a  better 
place,  yer  wid  Scip  an'  me.  An'  right  ober  yo' 
hade,  in  de  room  upstahs,  dere  's  yo'  own  chile,  little 
Di,  cuddled  up  in  a  nice,  comf 'ble  bed,  sleepin'  soun' 
as  a  nut.  An'  de  do'  ob  tie  stahs  is  shet,  so  yo'  can 
cry  an'  take  on  all  yo'  's  a  min'  to." 

"I  'm  not  crying,  Aunt  Peggy,"  said  Havilah,  in 
a  hard  tone.  "It  's  the  chill  which  makes  my  voice 
tremble.  I  don't  want  to  cry,  I  want" 

"Ob  co'se!  ob  co'se!"  broke  in  Peggy.  "An' 
dey  ain't  nuffin'  to  cry  fer,  nudder,  —  wid  Di  so 
soun'  sleep  dat  she  's  straggled  all  ober  de  bade. 
Yo'  '11  hab  to  lift  her  to  one  side,  when  yo'  gits  on 
to  de  oder  one.  Scip,  bring  a  bit  o'  brade  fer  me 
to  dip  into  dis  tea.  Yaas !  Di,  she  doan  keer  how 
much  o'  de  bade  she  gits  to  sleepin'  on,  an'  yo' 
monght  as  well  'speck  to  wake  de  dea —  de  President 


344  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

ob  de  United  States  down  in  de  White  House,  as  to 
wake  little  Di,  when  yo'  goes  upstahs  bimeby  to  lay 
down  side  ob  her.  Yaas,  honey,  jes'  take  aiioder 
tas',  cose  it  '11  wawm  yo'  up,  an'  ef  it  doan  tas' 
right,  dat  's  on'y  'count  o'  Scip  makin'  it.  But  yo' 
can't  'spect  Uncle  Scip  to  foller  de  cook-book.  So 
long  as  it 's  hot,  dat 's  all  yo'  wants  now  to  stop  dese 
yer  shakes,  'fore  yo'  come  upstahs  wid  Aunt  Peggy 
an'  gits  into  de  bade  wid  little  Di.  Den  yo  '11  git 
plenty  wawm  'nough,  wid  Di  tunnin'  ober  to  cuddle 
into  yo',  like  a  little  hot  kittle  o'  soup  simmerin' 
on  de  back  paht  o'  de  stove.  An'  she  '11  sleep,  jes' 
like  de  seven,  an'  nebber  know  till  mawnin'  dat 
she  's  so  comf 'ble  on'y  coze  she  's  snuggled  up  'gainst 
her  mammy!  " 

Peggy,  talking  in  this  way,  by  skillful  art  kept 
the  poor  woman's  mind  returning  to  her  child,  until 
at  last  she  was  quieted  and  allowed  herself  to  be 
helped  into  bed. 

Scipio  and  Peggy  did  not  go  to  bed  again.  They 
were  too  thoroughly  roused  to  sleep,  and  sat  an  hour 
or  more  in  their  big  armchairs,  in  the  parlor,  invent 
ing  first  one  and  then  another  theory  to  account 
for  Havilah's  appearance.  They  interrupted  each 
other  occasionally,  Peggy  to  creep  up  stairs  and 
look  at  the  mother  and  child  asleep,  and  Scipio  to 
walk  around  the  outside  of  the  house  and  shed,  to 
make  sure  that  nobody  was  lurking  about  the  prem 
ises,  on  the  watch  for  Havilah. 

They  had  extinguished  the  lights  and  the  sun 
was  rising  when  Scipio,  coming  in  from  giving  the 
mule  his  breakfast,  came  to  a  sudden  halt,  in  the 


HAVILAH.  345 

middle  of  the  parlor.  He  stood  quite  still  for  a 
few  seconds,  then  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  stood  still 
again,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  He  was  look 
ing  into  the  corner  where  the  bust  of  Venus  had 
been. 

Finally  he  called,  softly,  so  as  not  to  disturb 
Havilah:  "Peggy!" 

"Yer  !  "  answered  Peggy,  from  the  kitchen,  where 
she  was  preparing  to  make  some  coffee. 

"  Look-a-yer  !  "  said  Scipio. 

Peggy  appeared  at  the  door.  Scipio  pointed  to 
the  empty  shelf  and  asked  in  a  stage-whisper: 


Peggy  examined  the  inside  of  the  coffee-pot  in 
her  hand. 

"  Whar  is  she?  "  asked  Scipio  again,  with  a  comi 
cally  inquisitive  look. 

•  "Scip,"  said  Peggy,  rolling  her  eyes  around  at 
him,  "de  Lawd  gib  his  word  in  de  Chapter,  dat,  ef 
I  hearken  to  Him,  my  enemies  dey  's  got  to  be  smit. 
Yo'  unnerstan'  dat?" 

"Hm  —  m  —  yaas,"  said  Scipio,  doubtfully,  "but 
I  doan  see  ho\v  a  dade  image  got  anything  to  do  wid 
dat." 

"Dat  's  cose  yo'  ain't  hearkened  to  de  Lawd 
much  as  I  hab,  Scip,"  said  Peggy.  "I  listened  an' 
listened,  'till  I  yeard  'nough,  an'  las'  night,  w'ile 
yo'  was  outen  de  balm,  seemed  to  me  jes'  like  as  ef 
de  time  come  for  Semis  to  be  smit,  an9  T  smit 
her!" 

Scipio  shook  with  a  low  laugh  which  seemed  to 
start  from  his  boots  and  work  its  way  up.  He 


346  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

allowed  it  to  rumble  away  again,  and  then  asked 
mildly:  "Does  yo'  feel  better,  Peggy?" 

Peggy  answered  with  spirit,  "Yaas,  I  does!" 
"Doan  yo'  t'ink  yo'  '11  miss  Benus?  "  Scipio  asked 
mischievously. 

"No,  I  don't  !  "  Peggy  answered  with  more  spirit, 
and  stepping  nearer  to  Scipio,  she  put  her  arms 
akimbo,  the  coffee-pot  still  in  one  hand,  and  ex 
plained:  "I'm  done  habin'  her  stan'in'  dah,  like 
she  jes'  riz  outen  de  grabe,  lookin',  wid  cle  w'ites  ob 
her  eyes,  at  eberyt'ing  gwine  on!  Puttin'  de  bed- 
quilt  ober  her  an'  tunnin'  my  back  didn'  make  no 
difference  —  dah  she  was  !  But  she  's  done  Ofone 

o 

now  whar  she  can't  trouble  me  no  mo',  an'  dey  ain't 
no  use  ob  quirin'  fo'  her.  Ef  yo'  wants  any  ob 
de  carcase,  go  look  outen  de  yard,  roun'  de  kitchen 
do'." 

"Well,  Peggy,"  said  Scipio  gently,  screwing  up 
one  eye  and  looking  slyly  at  her,  "  'scuse  me  ef  I 
axes  yo'  one  mo'  question  —  w'at  yo'  gwine  to  say 
to  Miss  Desbrum,  w'en  she  'quires  for  de  lady?  " 

Peggy's  mouth  drew  down  and  she  looked  daggers 
for  an  instant.  Then  she  said  with  sarcasm,  "  Hm ! 
Reckon  I  kin  fin'  a  plenty  to  talk  'bout  'thout  lug- 
gin'  in  Benus  I" 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

TRACING    FOOTSTEPS. 

ON  the  way  to  the  Tombs  Horace  questioned  Ra 
chel  about  Havilah's  history.  What  she  told  him 
increased  his  interest  very  greatly.  As  one  fact 
after  another  came  to  his  knowledge,  he  became 
anxious  to  learn  every  detail  and  was  disappointed 
because  she  did  not  know  certain  ones  accurately. 
She  was  surprised  to  see  him  betray  an  eagerness 
which  amounted  to  excitement.  From  the  depress 
ing  conviction  that  he  had  seen  Havilah  throw  her 
self  into  the  water,  he  seized  upon  the  hope  that 
Rachel  was  right  in  thinking  that  she  was  alive. 

"No  matter  where,  or  who  has  her,  Miss  Stan- 
wood,  I  will  save  her  and  her  child,  if  it  is  in  human 
power  to  do  it,"  he  said  excitedly.  "I  will  think 
of  nothing  but  them,  and  I  will  not  rest  until  I  can 
show  them  to  you,  safe,  and  out  of  that  man's  reach. 
If  ever  I  was  good  for  anything,  I  '11  be  good  for 
this!" 

Rachel  admired  him  for  his  enthusiasm,  but  could 
not  account  for  it.  She  asked  if  what  she  had  told 
him  had  given  him  any  fresh  points  or  clue  to  work 
upon,  but  he  did  not  answer  directly. 

"Don't  ask  anything  now,"  he  said.  "Only  help 
me  get  the  facts  I  want.  If  we  only  find  Havilah 


348  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

at  the  prison,  I  can  learn  them  for  myself.     How 
much  farther  is  it?" 

"About  three  blocks,"  she  said,  panting,  "but  — 
do  you  know  how  fast  you  're  walking  me?  " 

He  slackened  his  steps  and  apologized,  laughing. 
She  made  him  laugh  more,  saying  cheerfully:  "No 
matter !  I  don't  want  more  than  just  enough  breath 
to  get  along  with.  I  '11  suffer  up  to  the  limit,  for 
the  good  of  the  cause.  I  was  brought  up  to  suffer 
for  Causes,  you  know;  so,  go  on!  " 

At  the  Tombs  Horace  was  impatient  at  the  delib 
eration  of  the  matron,  who  wanted  to  stop  Rachel 
and  make  friendly  inquiries  for  the  health  and 
happiness  of  her  family,  and  at  the  keeper's  slow 
ness  in  conducting  them  along  the  corridors,  and 
his  desire  to  point  out  and  describe  to  them  the  in 
teresting  cases.  It  was  necessary  to  be  guarded  and 
not  betray  the  object  of  their  visit,  so  Horace  put 
on  an  appearance  of  listening.  Rachel  visited  the 
special  inmates  to  whom  she  had  brought  the  book 
and  work,  joining  Horace  and  the  keeper  when  her 
mission  was  accomplished.  Horace  watched  her, 
when  an  opportunity  offered,  and  thought  of  what 
he  had  said  to  her  about  contamination.  He  saw 
the  prisoners  look  at  her,  sometimes  with  curiosity, 
generally  with  admiration.  Her  fresh  color  and 
girlish  beauty  made  her  a  welcome  sight,  and  her 
business-like  way  of  performing  her  errands  pleased 
them. 

Those  who  looked  at  her  saw  that  she  had  come 
with  a  definite  purpose  of  helping  some  among  them, 
and  not  from  idle  curiosity. 


TRACING  FOOTSTEPS.  349 

Here  and  there  a  few  scowled  after  her,  with  ex 
pressions  of  resentment  upon  their  faces.  Perhaps 
their  thoughts  rebelled  against  the  accident  of  birth 
which  placed  them  amid  degradation,  and  her  where 
she  was  shielded  from  it;  and  they  might  very  well 
have  wondered  how  things  would  have  been  with 
them,  or  their  young  sisters  or  daughters,  had  their 
chances  been  even  with  hers.  Some  were  indiffer 
ent,  and  allowed  her  to  pass  by  them  without  any 
thoughts  at  all.  To  some  she  brought  messages 
from  her  mother,  and  they  were  always  received 
gratefully.  Horace  caught  very  little  of  what  was 
said  by  either  herself  or  the  prisoners,  but  he  thought 
that  her  passage  along  the  corridors  was  like  a  fresh 
breeze  from  outside  which  must  leave  behind  it  a 
better  atmosphere  for  at  least  a  little  while.  At  any 
other  time  he  would  have  been  stirred  by  different 
emotions,  particularly  by  his  aversion  to  having  her 
there  at  all,  but  his  one  desire  now  was  to  find  Hav- 
ilah,  and  he  set  aside  other  feelings.  As  soon  as 
they  were  satisfied  that  she  was  not  in  the  prison, 
Rachel  and  Horace  made  an  excuse  to  leave  it. 

Rachel  announced  her  intention  of  going  to  Scipio's 
on  the  chance  of  finding  Havilah  there,  and,  in  any 
case,  to  bring  Diana  away.  Horace  proposed  to 
visit  the  other  jails  and  places  in  the  city  where 
there  was  any  probability  of  finding  Havilah.  But 
first  they  returned  to  the  Anti-Slavery  Standard 
office,  that  f  they  might  act  under  advice  and  avoid 
wasting  either  time  or  energy. 

At  the  office  Horace  repeated  the  questions  about 
which  he  was  so  urgent,  but  was  unsuccessful  in 


350  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

obtaining  satisfactory  answers.  He  made  notes  of 
the  questions  upon  a  slip  of  paper  which  he  gave  to 
Eachel  to  take  with  her  to  Gowanus,  and  made  it 
a  matter  of  vital  importance  that  she  should  write 
down  with  precision  such  answers  as  she  might  ob 
tain,  and  not  trust  simply  to  her  memory.  She 
thought  he  was  unnecessarily  careful  in  his  direc 
tions,  but  it  was  very  delightful  to  have  a  commis 
sion  from  him,  and  she  received  his  instructions  as 
seriously  as  he  gave  them.  She  asked  when  he 
would  tell  her  why  the  questions  were  so  important. 
He  smiled  and  said  it  depended  entirely  upon  how 
the  answers  suited  him. 

While  it  was  common  for  fugitive  slaves  to  meet 
with  kindness  from  the  lower  classes  of  white  people 
in  the  North,  they  often  encountered  the  reverse. 
In  the  families  of  abolitionists  the  attitude  of  white 
servants  toward  them  was  sometimes  more  than  un 
friendly,  it  was  antagonistic  and  even  dangerous. 
The  abolitionists  were  intolerant  of  "  prejudice 
against  color,"  as  they  called  it,  and  if  it  existed 
among  their  white  servants,  it  was  generally  con 
cealed,  excepting  in  the  presence  of  its  victims,  where 
it  was  displayed  wTith  all  the  more  bitterness  because 
of  its  repression  at  other  times.  At  the  Stanwroods', 
the  other  servants  were  nearly  always  recognized  sin 
ners  who  were  supposed  to  be  making  an  effort  to 
reform.  Some  reformed  and  some  did  not.  Those 
who  did,  and  even  those  whose  efforts  were  sincere, 
but  who  were  less  successful  in  accomplishing  the 
desired  result,  generally  regarded  fugitives  as  less 
fortunate  than  themselves  and  were  pitiful.  But 


TRACING  FOOTSTEPS.  351 

the  others,  who  made  both  sin  and  repentance  a 
profession,  regarded  the  negroes  as  an  inferior, 
degraded  class,  and  rejoiced  in  an  opportunity  of 
showing  and  maintaining  their  own  superiority  by 
small  persecutions  and  petty  tyranny. 

Fugitives  were  humble  and  patient,  as  a  class, 
and,  in  their  abounding  gratitude  to  those  who  har 
bored  them,  would  submit  uncomplainingly  to  much 
injustice.  It  was  a  lighter  order  of  injustice  than 
slavery  had  imposed  upon  them,  but  it  was  of  a  novel 
kind  and  therefore  hard  to  bear.  We  often  bear 
with  heroism  a  heavy  burden  to  which  we  are  accus 
tomed,  but  rebel  against  a  trifling  one  which  makes 
the  heart  ache,  ever  so  little,  in  a  new  place.  To 
be  treated  as  if  their  color  were  contaminating  was 
an  experience  which  many  of  the  negroes  had  to 
come  north  to  meet  with. 

To  Havilah  the  lesson  came  particularly  hard. 
She  was  proud  and  sensitive,  and  the  last  year's  ex 
periences,  had  embittered  her.  Until  Mr.  Suydan 
purchased  her,  she  had  lived  in  Virginia,  having 
been,  since  childhood,  a  part  of  a  fine  estate  there. 
Its  proprietor  was  the  only  master  whom  Havilah 
remembered.  Both  he  and  his  wife  were  kind,  to 
indulgence,  to  their  slaves,  and  Havilah  had  been  an 
especial  favorite  with  them.  She  had  been  married 
in  their  parlor  to  Frederick  Moore,  another  part 
of  the  estate,  and  they  had  lived  happily  in  the 
lodge,  at  the  entrance  to  the  grounds,  until  —  until 
their  master  failed  and  the  estate  had  to  be  sold ! 
The  slaves  were  bought  mostly  by  speculators,  one 
of  whom  took  Havilah  and  her  child  to  Delaware 


352  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

and  sold  them  there  to  Mr.  Suydan.  Frederick 
became  the  property  of  a  Mississippi  planter.  Hav- 
ilah  realized  then  what  slavery  meant.  Mr.  Suy 
dan  was  a  hard  master,  and  Havilah  had  to  suffer 
and  to  see  others  suffer  under  a  kind  of  tyranny 
which  was  new  to  her.  She  could  have  endured 
much  more  if  it  had  not  been  for  her  child,  but  she 
lived  in  terror  lest  her  little  Diana  should  be  treated 
with  cruelty  or,  worse  still,  torn  from  her.  After 
about  six  months  she  resolved  to  escape  with  the 
child,  and  devoted  all  her  skill  to  discovering  a  way. 
Harriet  Wilson,  whom  we  have  learned  to  call  Del- 
phina,  had  been  an  especial  victim  of  Mr.  Suy dan's 
harsh  treatment,  and  she  united  her  skill  with  Havi 
lah 's  until  at  last  the  three  had  escaped  together. 

But  the  taste  of  liberty  was  not  so  sweet  to  Havi 
lah  as  it  was  to  Delphina.  There  was  mingled  with 
it  the  consciousness  that  her  husband  could  not 
share  it  and  that,  for  him,  there  was  no  such  alle 
viation  as  she  had  in  the  companionship  of  their 
child.  He  could  not  even  have  the  comfort  of 
knowing  that  they  had  escaped.  The  farther  north 
they  came,  the  farther  Havilah  felt  they  were  from 
the  possibility  of  getting  tidings  of  him.  It  was 
this  thought  which  made  her  anxious  to  postpone 
going  to  Canada.  Through  the  past  summer  months 
she  and  Diana  had  been  living  with  some  friends 
of  the  Stan  woods  at  their  farm  on  the  Hudson 
River,  near  Newburgh.  Diana  had  greatly  im 
proved  in  health,  and,  in  the  restful  quiet  of  the 
season,  Havilah  had  recovered  something  of  her  old 
condition  of  peace.  She  never  forgot  that  her  hus- 


TRACING  FOOTSTEPS.  353 

band  was  still  a  slave,  and  the  possibilities  of 
what  he  might  be  suffering  made,  in  the  stream  of 
her  life,  a  continuous  undercurrent  of  pain.  Her 
friends  kept  up  her  spirits  with  the  hope  of  discov 
ering  where  he  was  and  the  prospect  there  might  be 
of  buying  him,  as  Scipio  had  been  bought.  To  this 
end  Havilah  saved  her  earnings,  and  the  incentive 
to  work  cheered  her  more  than  anything  else  did. 

But  autumn  had  come  and  with  it  no  news  of 
Frederick.  She  felt  that  now  was  the  time  for  her 
master  to  renew  his  search  for  Diana  and  herself. 
With  the  possibility  of  his  doing  so,  Diana  was 
again  sent  to  Scipio  and  Peggy. 

It  was  natural  for  negroes  to  herd  together.  In 
stead  of  fearing  that  a  colony  of  them  would  be 
regarded  by  slave-hunters  with  suspicion  and  would, 
therefore,  be  a  dangerous  hiding  -  place  for  fugi 
tives,  the  feeling  was  strong  among  colored  people 
that  it  was  their  safest  refuge.  There,  whatever 
happened,  they  would  stand  by  one  another.  Ex 
cepting  abolitionists,  they  were  often  suspicious  of 
everybody  else.  Their  strongest  faith  was  in  their 
own  people. 

Eachel  Stanwood  and  Horace  Desborough  were 
not  the  only  people  who  had  seen  Mr.  Suydan  and 
Tibbie  MacClare  together.  Havilah  had  seen  them 
first.  On  the  evening  before,  just  after  she  had 
stepped  down  into  Friend  Holly's  area,  with  the  note 
which  she  was  taking  to  Mrs.  Holly,  Mr.  Suydan 
and  Tibbie  passed  by  under  the  street-lamp  in  front 
of  the  house,  and  Havilah  recognized  them.  She 


354  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

was  afraid  to  go  out  iii  the  street  again,  after  giv 
ing  the  note  to  the  servant.  So  she  made  a  pretext 
of  wanting  to  look  for  something  in  her  purse  by 
the  light  in  the  front  basement.  As  soon  as  Jane, 
Mrs.  Holly's  girl,  went  upstairs  with  the  note, 
Havilah  purposely  opened  and  closed  the  front  door 
noisily,  to  make  it  appear  that  she  had  gone  out, 
hurried  through  the  entry  into  the  yard,  and  hid 
herself  under  the  vines  in  the  corner.  She  knew 
the  Holly s'  girl  and  was  afraid  of  her.  Jane  was 
aware  of  the  negro  blood  in  her  veins,  and  treated 
her  accordingly.  Havilah  wondered,  in  case  Mr. 
Suydan  rang  the  door-bell,  what  Jane  would  tell 
him.  She  strained  her  ears  listening  for  the  ring. 
It  did  not  come,  but  it  was  as  well  that  she  did  not 
return  to  the  street,  for  Tibbie  was  pointing  out,  on 
their  evening  walk,  places  of  special  interest  to  Mr. 
Suydan,  and,  after  passing  a  little  farther  along, 
returned  with  him  to  show  him  exactly  which  one  of 
the  houses  belonged  to  Mr.  Holly.  It  was  unneces 
sary  trouble,  for  the  city  directory  furnished  the  in 
formation. 

Although  Havilah  had  only  seen  Mr.  Suydan  and 
Miss  MacClare  in  the  instant  when  they  had  passed 
under  the  gaslight,  she  perceived  more  than  Rachel 
and  Horace  did  the  next  morning,  even  with  the  full 
light  of  day  and  in  treble  the  time.  The  antagonism 
which  had  existed  between  Tibbie  and  herself  caused 
her  mind  to  leap  at  once  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
girl  had  betrayed  her.  She  also  saw  in  her  mind 
something  far  worse  than  Tibbie  as  a  traitor  —  she 
saw  Tibbie  as  a  mistress  !  Her  mistress !  Diana's 


TRACING  FOOTSTEPS.  355 

mistress !  For,  if  Tibbie  were  not  already  Mr.  Suy- 
clan's  wife,  she  was  assuredly  going  to  be.  She  had 
hung  upon  his  arm  and  looked  up  at  him  as  only 
wives  or  lovers  look.  Diana's  mistress  f  Again 
Havilah  could  see  Tibbie  when  she  struck  Diana  that 
day  long  ago,  at  the  Stanwoods'.  Havilah  had 
seized  her  arm  then,  made  her  cower,  and  told  her 
she  "would  never  do  that  again."  Now?  Hav 
ilah 's  mind  saw  Tibbie  strike  little  Di  again  and 
again  and  glory  in  the  act,  while  it  was  she  —  Hav 
ilah —  who  cowered  down  before  her  and  had  no 
power  to  defend  her  child !  It  should  not  be  ! 

Havilah,  crouching  in  the  corner  under  the  vines, 
thought  with  the  keenest  power  given  to  a  woman's 
brain  —  the  power  of  a  mother  who  sees  her  child 
in  danger.  She  put  aside  her  passion,  her  terror, 
every  personal  feeling,  and  concentrated  her  intelli 
gence  upon  devising  a  plan  by  which  she  could  save 
Diana. 

The  person  at  the  piano  in  one  of  the  houses 
banged  at  "The  Maiden's  Prayer,"  voices  talked 
overhead,  Jane  fastened  the  kitchen  door  and  win 
dows  for  the  night,  Ole  Bull  played,  stopped,  and 
played  again ;  but  Havilah  sat  on  the  ground  mo 
tionless,  her  knees  drawn  up  and  her  arms  crossed 
over  them,  with  her  eyes  straining  into  the  darkness, 
and  heard  no  sound.  Long  before  the  violin  was 
silent  she  knew  what  she  was  going  to  do. 

She  had  no  thought  of  asking  help  of  the  friends 
who  were  within  her  reach.  They  would  urge  her 
to  wait  until  morning.  More  than  that,  they  might 
prevent  her  from  carrying  out  her  purpose.  They 


356  EACIIEL  STANWOOD. 

might  save  her,  while  her  master  and  Tibbie  were 
carrying  off  Diana.  That  was  the  thing  which 
should  not  be;  Havilah  would  get  to  Diana  first. 
And  she  knew  just  how  she  was  going  to  do  it. 
Piece  by  piece,  she  got  down  the  clotheslines,  and 
then  she  knotted  them,  carefully  and  firmly,  into 
loops  which  would  serve  as  steps  in  climbing  the  gates. 
She  knew  all  about  those  gates ;  to  get  over  them 
she  would  need  two  ladders.  Mentally  she  reviewed 
the  way  by  which  she  meant  to  go,  from  the  outer 
gate  on  Second  Avenue  to  Scipio's  house  in  Gow- 
arius.  No  bit  of  memory,  no  quality  of  her  mind, 
failed  her.  More  than  Diana's  life  was  at  stake, 
and  it  would  not  do  to  blunder;  every  particle  of 
her  intelligence  was  at  her  command.  If  she  should 
be  pursued,  she  might  have  to  deviate  from  a  direct 
course,  but  she  would  not  lose  her  head.  Before 
she  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  wall,  she  pointed  her 
mind  toward  Scipio's  shanty  across  the  river,  and, 
whatever  happened,  she  would  keep  it  there  with 
the  steadiness  of  a  compass. 

The  two  men  whom  William  Hedges  and  Horace 
Desborough  had  overheard  talking  as  they  went  by 
the  cemetery  gate  were  in  the  employment  of  Mr. 
Suydan,  whose  suspicions  had  centred  upon  Friend 
Holly's  as  the  place  where  Havilah  was  secreted. 

Tibbie  had  made  the  discovery  that  the  child  was 
at  Scipio's,  and  she  had  tried  to  persuade  Mr.  Suy 
dan  to  watch  the  little  shanty,  with  the  chance  that 
Havilah  would  visit  it.  But  Suydan  was  afraid  of 
missing  his  prey  by  waiting  for  such  a  possibility, 
and  considered  it  safest  to  keep  his  eyes  upon  the 


TRACING  FOOTSTEPS.  357 

houses  of  Friend  Holly  and  Mr.  Stanwood.  He 
thought  it  the  part  of  wisdom,  however,  to  leave 
Diana  undisturbed  until  he  should  learn  where 
Havilah  was,  as  taking  the  child  would  cause  Hav- 
ilah's  protectors  to  guard  her  with  more  security. 

It  was  Havilah  whom  the  officer,  Horace,  and  Will 
had  seen  at  the  beginning  of  their  chase.  Will  did 
not  reason  as  to  why  he  thought  that  the  person  es 
caping  was  a  fugitive  slave,  beyond  the  fact  that  she 
had  started  from  Friend  Holly's.  The  old  Quaker 
gentleman  had  helped  away  so  many  slaves  that  it 
was  safe  to  assume  that  this  was  another.  But  the 
thought  of  Havilah  did  not  enter  Will's  mind  until, 
stopping  early  in  the  chase  to  look  back,  he  saw 
the  fugitive,  behind  the  pursuers,  dart  across  a  patch 
of  moonlight  and  run  in  an  opposite  direction  from 
them.  He  saw  then  that  the  person  whom  they 
were  chasing  was  a  woman,  and  the  thought  that  pos 
sibly  it  might  be  Havilah  came  into  his  mind. 

When  she  reached  the  end  of  the  pier,  Havilah, 
looking  down  at  the  water,  had  seen  a  place  where 
the  shadow  jutted  out  blacker  than  anywhere  else, 
and  had  made  a  desperate  leap  for  it.  It  proved  to 
be  the  end  of  an  old  scow  which  was  moored  under 
the  wharf.  It  dipped  as  her  weight  touched  it,  or 
she  would  certainly  have  been  seriously  injured. 
As  it  was,  the  intensity  of  her  purpose  made  her 
unconscious  that  she  was  badly  bruised.  She  was 
too  desperate  to  be  sensible  of  pain.  She  crawled 
from  the  scow  to  a  beam  and  from  there  saw  Will 
when  he  climbed  down  to  the  lower  tier  of  logs. 
The  plashing  of  the  tide  and  bumping  of  some  loose 


358  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

logs  against  the  pier  prevented  her  from  hearing 
what  the  young  men  said  to  each  other.  She  waited 
until  they  went  away  and  then  managed,  by  climb 
ing  and  crawling,  to  work  herself  to  a  place  from 
which  she  could  again  get  up  to  the  surface  of  the 
dock.  From  there  she  had  gone  cautiously,  limp 
ing  her  way  along,  sometimes  hiding  for  a  while, 
keeping  as  near  the  shore  as  possible,  until  she 
reached  a  ferry.  There  she  waited  and  watched 
until  some  other  passengers  came  to  take  the  boat. 
She  followed  in  the  line  with  them,  and  paid  her 
fare  without  observation.  On  the  Brooklyn  side  of 
the  river  she  asked  boldly,  of  one  of  the  loungers 
about  the  ferry,  the  way  to  Gowaiius.  She  knew 
Scipio's  cottage  well,  and  had  had  it  in  mind  so 
often  as  a  possible  refuge  that  she  knew  its  location, 
and  was  not  obliged  to  make  any  further  inquiries. 
When  she  reached  it,  she  searched  for  some  nook 
where  she  could  hide  until  morning,  and  climbed 
through  the  window  of  the  mule's  shed.  "  Willum" 
proved  to  be  the  only  competent  detective  whom  she 
encountered  in  her  flight,  and  summoned  his  master 
to  take  care  of  her. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

ANSWEKS   TO   CERTAIN   QUESTIONS. 

"On,  Miss  Rachel,  yo'  don't  know  what  yo'  're 
asking!  I  've  come  to  the  end  of  my  journey  now 
and  I  can't  go  any  farther;  ef  he  chooses  to  come 
yer  fo'  me,  let  him  come!  He'll  find  me,  ef  he 
comes.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  he  '11  find  both  of  us,  and  — 
we  11  be  ready  fo'  him!  " 

Havilah's  laugh  grated  harshly  upon  Rachel's 
ear;  it  would  have  been  less  painful  to  hear  her 
sob. 

They  were  in  the  parlor  of  Scipio's  shanty,  where 
Peggy  had  left  them  while  she  prepared  something 
for  Rachel  to  eat  before  going  away.  The  latch  of 
the  kitchen  door  rattled  with  the  fumbling  of  a  small 
pair  of  hands  on  the  other  side  of  it.  The  door  was 
pushed  open,  and,  heralded  by  a  large  yellow  cat  and 
the  savory  odor  of  something  cooking,  Diana  came 
into  the  parlor.  The  cat  ran  to  rub  his  sides  against 
Havilah's  chair,  purring  loudly  and  evidently  ex 
pecting  a  treat  from  Diana,  who  was  carrying  two 
very  small  pies  on  a  tin  plate.  As  the  cat  intimated 
his  expectations  by  suggestive  mews  and  rearing 
efforts  to  smell  the  pies,  Diana  held  the  plate  above 
the  reach  of  his  nose  and  said  in  her  sweetest  tones : 
"No,  Santy  Ann,  zey  ain't  fo'  yo'  't  all;  yo'  '11  have 


360  EACI1EL  STAN  WOOD. 

to  wait  till  bimeby.  I  made  zese  pies  all  fo'  Miss 
Waychel  an'  my  mamma." 

Setting  the  plate  upon  a  table  beside  her  mother, 
she  looked  at  it  with  her  head  on  one  side,  lost  in 
admiration.  Peggy  had  twisted  Diana's  hair  into  a 
womanly  knot  on  the  crown  of  her  head,  turned  up 
the  skirt  of  her  dress  and  pinned  it  behind,  making 
her  look  like  a  diminutive  charwoman.  The  child's 
eyes  sparkled  with  the  fun  of  playing  "cook,"  and 
her  cheeks  were  rosy  from  the  heat  of  the  stove. 
She  offered  a  pie  first  to  Rachel,  and  was  pleased 
with  her  thanks,  which  were  adapted  to  the  occasion. 
She  carried  her  other  pie  to  her  mother,  with  a 
coaxing  manner,  showing  a  doubt  as  to  its  being  so 
acceptable. 

"Tas'e  it,  mamma,  tas'e  it!"  she  said,  pinching 
off  a  bit  and  putting  it  to  her  mother's  lips.  "  Aim' 
Peggy  says  de  pies  zat  little  gells  makes  is  de  bes' 
pies  fo'  muzzers." 

Havilah  put  her  arm  around  the  child  and  bent 
over  her  a  moment. 

"That'll  do;  it  is  very  good,  but  mamma  can't 
eat  any  more  now,  darling,"  she  said  tenderly. 
"Leave  it  yer  on  the  table  fo'  me,  won't  yo'?  " 

"I  '11  set  ze  table,  an'  mamma  can  have  a  party!  " 
Diana  exclaimed  joyfully.  For  a  few  minutes  she 
danced  about,  between  the  kitchen  and  where  her 
mother  was  sitting,  bringing  such  odds  and  ends  of 
little  dishes  and  ornaments  as  she  could  find  to  suit 
her  fanciful  idea  of  a  party,  and  made  an  array  of 
them  upon  the  table. 

When  she  retreated  to  the  kitchen  to  concoct  a 


ANSWERS  TO  CERTAIN  QUESTIONS.        361 

pudding  for  "the  party,"  and  closed  the  door,  Ra 
chel  seized  the  opportunity,  while  Havilah  was  under 
the  softening  influence  of  Diana's  pretty  attentions, 
and  said,  in  a  tone  of  entreaty :  "  Come  now,  Hav 
ilah!  Come,  before  anything  happens  to  change 
poor  little  Di's  happiness  in  to  trouble!  Come  for 
her  sake!  " 

But  the  hardness  came  into  Havilah' s  face  again 
and  she  set  her  hands  upon  the  arms  of  her  chair 
with  a  determined  gesture  while  she  said:  "It 's  for 
her  sake  I'm  going  to  stay  yer,  Miss  Rachel.  Yo' 
are  very  good,  and  Mr.  Desborough  is  very  good  to 
take  so  much  trouble  fo'  Di'  an'  me.  When  yo'  give 
him  the  answers  to  those  questions,  tell  him  I  thank 
him  for  caring  so  much,  but  I  'd  rather  he  'd  give 
it  all  up.  He  is  only  going  to  waste  his  time  and 
strength  and  may  be  bring  trouble  on  himself. 
Tell "  —  She  stopped  as  if  she  suddenly  decided 
not  to  say  something  else.  Rachel  took  up  her 
words  and  pleaded :  - 

"But  he  can  bear  the  trouble,  Havilah,  better  than 
Uncle  Scipio  and  Aunt  Peggy  can,  and  he  has  more 
strength  than  they  have.  I  don't  know  of  what  use 
these  answers  are,  but  I  know  that  he  will  be  dread 
fully  disappointed  if  I  don't  take  you  and  Diana 
back.  If  he  had  thought  it  at  all  likely  that  I 
would  find  you  here,  he  'd  have  come  too.  He  is 
doing  nothing  now,  Havilah,  but  look  for  you. 
They  are  all  looking  for  you,  and,  if  you  go  back 
with  me,  it  will  save  trouble  for  them  and  may  be 
for  Uncle  Scipio  and  Aunt  Peggy  too !  " 

But  Havilah  would  not  yield.     With  a  look  which 


362  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

was  at  once  sad  and  gentle,  but  also  firm  as  a  rock, 
she  said,  — 

"Uncle  Scip  and  Aunt  Peggy  are  my  people, 
and  Di's  people,  Miss  Rachel.  We  are  the  same 
race;  we  know  how  to  suffer  for  one  another,  and 
we  can  do  it  better  than  you  can.  That  is  what 
we  are  made  for.  I  don't  want  to  bring  trouble  on 
Uncle  Scip  and  Aunt  Peggy,  but,  if  I  can't  help  it, 
they  won't  grudge  me  a  little." 

"And  we  would  not  either,  Havilah,"  Rachel  said 
earnestly.  "  We  would  all  take  a  great  deal  to  help 
you." 

"Oh,  I  know  that!  I  know  that!  Yo'  have  done 
it  and  "  —  Havilah  exclaimed  and  stopped  again. 
There  was  something  in  her  mind  which  she  did  not 
mean  to  say  to  Rachel.  She  clasped  her  fingers 
tightly  around  the  arms  of  her  chair  and  set  her  lips 
together.  She  did  not  look  at  Rachel  any  more; 
when  she  spoke,  her  eyes  looked  coldly,  straight 
before  her,  but  they  looked  without  seeing. 

"Yo'  and  yore  folks  have  done  more  than  yore 
share,  more  than  yo'  ought,  and  the  time  has  come 
for  that  to  end  too,"  Havilah  said  in  a  low  tone. 

Rachel  was  distressed.  She  felt  that  Havilah 
ought  to  go  away  with  her,  and  that,  if  the  right 
things  were  said,  she  would  be  persuaded.  But 
Rachel  could  not  think  of  the  right  things.  She 
felt  like  crying  because  she  could  not  move  Hav 
ilah.  Havilah 's  last  point  about  her  family  hav 
ing  done  too  much  in  her  behalf,  pained  her,  and 
she  pleaded  against  it.  But  to  no  purpose.  Had 
Rachel  been  older,  she  would  have  been  alarmed 


ANSWERS  TO  CERTAIN  QUESTIONS.        363 

at  the  stony  expression  of  Havilah's  face  and  the 
awful  quietness  of  her  manner  when  she  said  at 
last :  - 

"It  isn't  of  any  use,  Miss  Rachel,  fo'  yo'  to  try 
to  get  me  to  go  away  from  yer.  I  am  going  to  stay 
yer.  Yo'  don't  know  what  I  have  got  to  do  if"  — 
And  there  she  came  against  that  thing  in  her  mind 
which  could  not  be  spoken.  Rachel  did  not  under 
stand  anything  except  Havilah's  unwillingness  to  be 
any  longer  a  burden  and  anxiety  to  those  who  had 
protected  her  hitherto. 

Peggy,  busy  with  her  cooking,  and  troubled  be 
cause  Rachel  could  eat  so  little  of  what  she  pre 
pared,  did  not  observe  Havilah's  manner.  To  her 
it  seemed  only  the  result  of  strain  and  exhaustion. 
She  did  not  share  any  apprehensions  as  to  the  safety 
of  Havilah  and  Diana  in  the  shanty.  She  was  bet 
ter  pleased  to  have  them  remain,  and  Rachel  could 
not  make  her  feel  any  indications  that  they  would 
be  molested. 

"De  Africans  ain't  nebber  b'en  'sturbed  yer," 
she  said,  and  explained  carefully  to  Rachel  how  all 
the  persecutions  which  those  of  the  colony  had 
suffered  had  been  confined  to  attacks  in  the  street, 
on  their  way  to  and  from  labor.  "An'  all  dem  has 
been  furder  away,  down  in  de  city,  'mongst  de  pop- 
palation,"  she  argued  contemptuously.  "Yo'  doan 
'speck  de  kin'  o'  folks  w'at  hits  at  a  man  in  de  dahk 
—  an'  dat  's  jes'  de  kin'  Hab'lah's  massa  b'longs  to 
—  yo'  doan  'speck  dem  to  come  whar  dey  '11  fin' 
'nough  Africans  togedder  to  defen'  'emselves,  does 
yo',  Miss  Rachel?  H'm!" 


364  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

Rachel  reached  home  late  in  the  afternoon  and 
had  scarcely  taken  off  her  things  when  Horace  Des- 
borough  appeared.  He  was  amazed  and  excited  to 
learn  that  she  had  found  Havilah.  She  began  re 
gretting  her  inability  to  bring  the  mother  and  child 
back  with  her,  but  Horace  scarcely  listened,  and 
interrupted  her  to  ask  if  she  had  obtained  the  answers 
to  those  questions  he  had  written.  She  gave  him 
the  slip  of  paper  with  questions  and  answers  upon 
it  and  watched  him  while  he  glanced  hastily  over 
them.  He  was  so  excited  that  the  paper  shook  in 
his  hands. 

"The  answers  do  suit,  then!  "  she  said,  as  she  saw 
his  face  light  up. 

"I  think  so  —  I  believe  so!  "  he  exclaimed  joy 
fully.  "But  I  must  not  stop  —  good-by !  " 

He  was  in  a  hurry  to  go,  and  she  did  not  try  to 
detain  him.  "Then  I  will  wait  to  understand,"  she 
said,  and  held  out  her  hand  for  his  good-by.  He 
saw  his  joy  reflected  in  her  face,  and,  seizing  her 
hand,  bent  suddenly  over  it  and  kissed  it. 

"Forgive  me!  "  he  said,  but  added  immediately: 
"No  —  don't  !  Wait  a  minute !  " 

He  let  go  of  her  hand,  stood  before  her  erect,  and 
with  a  touch  of  the  old  haughtiness  of  their  first 
acquaintance,  said:  "Miss  Stan  wood,  one  of  the 
first  things  you  knew  about  me  was  of  the  part  I 
had  taken  in  —  I  called  it  then  restoring  a  man's 
property  to  him;  I  call  it  now  depriving  another 
man  of  his  liberty.  I  cannot  undo  that  act.  But  I 
have  made  a  compact  with  myself  that  I  will  be  the 
means,  if  it  is  in  my  power,  of  helping  to  give  what 


ANSWERS   TO  CERTAIN  QUESTIONS.        365 

I  was  once  the  means  of  helping  to  take  away.  If 
I  can  prevent  Havilah's  master  from  taking  her  and 
her  child  back  into  slavery  I  shall  feel  a  little  as  if 
I  had  atoned  for  my  first  act,  and  —  and  a  better 
right  to  ask  you  never  to  forgive  what  I  could  not 
help  just  now.  Good-by ! 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  she  put  hers  into  it, 
unable  to  speak.  He  did  the  most  difficult  thing- 
he  had  ever  done  in  his  life  —  he  gave  her  hand 
only  a  little  pressure  and  left  her. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

MISS   GRAYTHORN    EXPLAINS    THOROUGH-BASS  TO 
GRACE   DESBOROUGH. 

FOR  a  time  the  promise  which  Grace  Desborough 
had  made  to  her  lover,  "to  live  her  best  and  be  as 
happy  as  she  could,"  bolstered  up  her  courage.  She 
went  about  with  her  father  and  mother,  sight-seeing 
and  to  hear  music,  and  they  were  delighted  with  her 
and  with  their  own  wisdom  in  getting  up  this  plan 
of  foreign  travel  which  was  going  to  straighten 
everything  out  so  beautifully.  In  August  they  were 
joined,  at  Neuchatel,  by  the  River ston  family  and 
Miss  Graythorn,  who  was  traveling  under  their  pro 
tection. 

Miss  Adele  Graythorn  was,  to  those  who  were  in 
search  of  amusement,  an  attractive  little  person, 
with  dull  chestnut  hair,  dark  eyes,  pale  complexion 
and  a  laughing  mouth.  She  was  nineteen,  gay, 
witty,  and  careless.  She  insisted  upon  having  a 
happy  atmosphere  about  her,  even  if  she  had  it  all 
to  make  herself,  and  her  wit,  which  was  as  good- 
natured  as  it  was  sharp,  helped  effectively  to  pro 
duce  it.  She  made  fun  of  everything  and  every 
body,  in  a  thoughtless,  easy  way,  and  tossed  aside 
vexations  and  annoyances  as  carelessly  as  she  threw 
away  her  letters.  Things  lighted  upon  her  as  but- 


MISS   GRAYTHOEN  EXPLAINS.  367 

terflies  light  upon  flowers ;  and,  when  she  brushed 
them  off,  they  left  no  traces.  Her  coquetry,  of 
which  she  had  plenty,  had  a  sparkle  to  it  which  made 
it  vastly  amusing.  But  it  was  shallow  and  rarely 
injured  anybody.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Desborough  were 
delighted  to  give  her  a  welcome,  and  felt  that  her 
company  was  certain  to  assuage  all  Grace's  pangs 
of  homesickness  and  unwholesome  longings.  The 
company  of  Burton  Riverstoii  was  to  supplement  the 
beneficent  influences  of  travel  and  Miss  Graythorn. 
Nothing  could  have  been  more  fortunately  arranged, 
and  if  the  end  of  it  all  should  be  an  attraction  be 
tween  Grace  and  Burton,  so  much  the  better. 

The  Desborough  parents  made  no  effort  to  bring 
about  such  a  result  and  did  not  at  all  set  their  hearts 
upon  it.  It  might,  or  it  might  not  happen,  that  was 
all.  They  observed  that  Burton  enjoyed  getting 
Grace  by  herself,  when  foreign  ideas  of  propriety 
made  it  easy,  and  that  their  conversation  seemed  to 
be  interesting  to  both,  in  a  natural,  wholesome  way. 
It  was  just  as  well  that  they  did  not  get  their 
hopes  of  a  serious  result  worked  up,  for  there  was 
another  point  of  view  from  which  to  consider  Grace's 
and  Burton's  interest  in  those  talks,  and  there  was 
also  another  young  lady  in  the  party  who  was  to  be 
taken  into  the  account. 

When  Burton  Riverston  appeared  upon  the  scene 
it  was  not  his  personality,  but  the  American  atmos 
phere  which  he  brought  along  with  him,  which  did 
Grace  good.  He  told  her  much  about  the  firm  of 

O 

Hedges  &  Desborough,  their  cosy  office,  especially 
the  inner  room,  called  private,  and  ostensibly  used 


368  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

for  consultations  and  confidences  with  clients.  Bur 
ton  was  often  in  it  and  helped  to  keep  up  appear 
ances  for  the  firm  by  passing  himself  off  as  a  client 
before  occasional  visitors.  He  made  Grace's  old 
merry  laugh  ring  out  with  his  stories,  and  it  was 
music  to  the  ears  of  her  father  and  mother.  Then 
Miss  Desborough  was  Miss  Stanwood's  friend,  and 
that  fact  supplied  them  with  another  theme  which 
seemed  inexhaustible.  They  exchanged  no  con 
fidences,  and  talked  only  on  the  surface  of  their 
subjects,  but  what  they  had  to  say  interested  no 
body  but  themselves,  and  they  enjoyed  each  other's 
sympathy.  Burton's  helped  Grace  to  wait  more  pa 
tiently  for  Will;  Grace's  helped  Burton  to  learn  to 
do  without  something  he  had  tried  for  and  failed  to 
win.  Before  he  left  America,  Rachel  Stan  wood  had 
refused  him. 

But  Miss  Graythorn  was  not  the  girl  to  help 
Grace  and  Burton  to  win  each  other.  Burton  was 
the  only  available  young  man  in  her  vicinity,  and 
she  wanted  him  for  her  own  use.  He  was  rather 
dull,  had  grown  serious,  and,  so  far  as  all  entertain 
ing  qualities  went,  could  not  hold  a  candle  to  young 
Desborough,  Grace's  brother.  But  Horace  was  out 
of  favor  with  Miss  Graythorn  at  present.  He  had 
been  bewitched  by  that  pretty  Quaker  girl,  turned 
fanatic,  thrown  away  his  prospects,  and  was  sending 
himself  after  them  as  fast  as  he  could.  Here,  in  a 
foreign  land,  with  his  courteous  manners  and  good- 
natured  unselfishness,  Burton  Eiverston  showed  to 
advantage;  Miss  Graythorn  enjoyed  his  society  and 
did  her  prettiest  to  make  him  enjoy  hers.  The 


MISS   GEAYTHOEN  EXPLAINS.  369 

Rotherwells  and  Percival  Grays,  from  New  York, 
appeared  at  the  principal  hotel,  and  he  was  immensely 
useful  doing  duty  as  escort.  Miss  Graythorn  went 
everywhere  with  them,  and  Burton  attended  her 
faithfully.  As  she  and  Grace  liked  his  society  for 
such  different  reasons,  their  interests  did  not  clash, 
and  they  got  along  very  well  together.  Poor  Miss 
Clementina  Riverston  would  have  been  rather  left 
out  in  the  cold,  if  it  had  not  been  for  Grace,  who 
kept  her  company  at  home.  Mrs.  Riverston  and 
Mrs.  Desborough  adopted  with  enthusiasm  the  for 
eign  ideas  of  propriety  and  bore  down  upon  the  girls 
(they  included  Miss  Clementina  as  one  also)  with 
an  amount  of  matronizing  which  was  oppressive. 
The  chaperon  business  was  carried  on  briskly,  and 
to  the  two  elder  ladies  was  a  most  interesting  study. 
When  Mrs.  Riverston  addressed  her  daughter  and 
Miss  Graythorn  as  "you  girls,"  in  the  presence  of 
Burton,  however,  the  effect  of  the  study  was  some 
what  marred.  Burton  laughed.  It  was  a  little 
cruel  to  his  sister  to  do  it,  but  he  was  taken  by  sur 
prise,  and  his  mother  used  the  expression  in  giving 
some  advice  so  unsuitable  for  a  young  woman  of 
Clementina's  mature  years  that  it  was  irresistibly 
funny.  "It  was  awfully  mean  of  him,"  Miss  Gray- 
thorn  said  to  Grace  afterwards,  "when  we  were  both 
trying  so  hard  to  look  like  contemporaries !  " 

It  is  very  easy  to  be  a  heroine  for  a  while,  and 
Grace  performed  the  part  very  well  through  the 
summer.  But  after  Burton  Riverston  left  the  party 
to  join  a  comrade  who  was  going  to  Zermatt  to  see 
the  Matterhorn,  and  there  was  nobody  to  talk  with 


370  EACHEL  STANWOOD. 

about  the  firm  of  Hedges  &  Desborougli,  it  began 
to  be  hard  to  keep  up  her  cheerfulness.  Eloise  was 
sent  to  a  boarding-school  in  Lausanne  about  the 
middle  of  September,  and  Grace  missed  her.  Since 
that  time  when  Eloise  had  interfered  with  the  waiter 
and  carried  Will's  violets  upstairs,  Grace  had  felt 
a  little  bond  of  sympathy  between  her  sister  and 
herself  which  she  had  never  known  before.  The 
poor  girl  was  deprived  of  the  one  thing  which  she 
wanted,  and  it  was  useless  to  try  and  make  anything 
else  answer  in  its  place. 

Grace  read  her  fan  diligently.  It  helped  her  to 
"live  her  best,"  but  it  was  a  poor  kind  of  best. 
She  heard  regularly  from  Horace,  but,  by  tacit  con 
sent,  he  and  she  avoided  writing  about  Will  and 
herself.  He  was  afraid  of  adding  to  her  loneli 
ness  and  his  letters  gave  only  what  was  of  general 
interest.  Occasional  phrases  about  the  firm  in 
formed  her  that  Will  was  in  good  health,  that  was 
all.  Such  sentences  as:  "The  firm  is  well  and  able- 
bodied —  ready  for  clients,"  and  "If  not  on  the  top 
wave  of  prosperity,  the  firm  yet  holds  its  own," 
gave  her  the  only  tidings  of  Will  which  she  received 
from  her  brother.  After  the  Rotherwells  and  Perci- 
val  Grays  had  gone,  Miss  Graythorn,  deprived  also 
of  a  young  man  to  play  with,  had  to  exert  herself  to 
create  that  cheerfulness  upon  which  she  was  depen 
dent.  Grace's  low  spirits  bored  her,  and  it  was 
hard  to  do  any  thing  with  Miss  Riverston.  Miss 
Clementina  was  very  mature  for  her  years  ;  with 
every  desire  to  hold  on  to  her  youth,  she  had  not  the 
least  knowledge  how  to  do  it.  It  was  certainly 


MISS  GRAYTHORN  EXPLAINS.  371 

hard  upon  Miss  Graythorn  and  she  derived  much 
credit  for  her  efforts  to  improve  the  atmosphere. 
"Clemmy  is  a  hard  case,"  she  said  to  Grace.  "If 
she  would  accept  herself  just  as  she  is,  she  'd  do  well 
enough.  Thirty  is  not  bad.  When  I  'm  thirty,  I  'm 
going  to  blossom  into  womanhood  with  charming 
effect.  If  Clemmy  would  take  herself  at  thirty,  and 
not  try  to  be  an  anachronism,  she  'd  be  all  right." 

Her  light-hearted  talk  made  Grace  laugh,  and 
supplied  the  party  generally  with  considerable  cheer 
fulness,  so  that  they  managed  to  reach  September 
almost  comfortably.  But  by  that  time  Miss  Gray- 
thorn  desired  a  change.  She  could  easily  have  per 
suaded  the  Riverstons  to  travel,  but  she  did  not  care 
to  be  separated  from  Grace,  who,  dull  as  she  was, 
was  better  than  "Clemmy."  The  result  was  that 
they  all  went  to  Paris,  where  they  set  to  work  vigor 
ously  to  enjoy  all  the  gayety  possible. 

"  Whoever  he  is,  being  miserable  is  n't  going  to 
prove  your  loyalty  to  him!"  said  Miss  Graythorn, 
in  Grace's  room  at Hotel. 

She  had  determined  to  give  Grace  a  good  shaking 
up,  and  this  was  her  way  of  beginning  it.  Grace 
stood  upright  and  looked  aghast  at  Miss  Graythorn. 
Miss  Graythorn  sat  at  the  opposite  side  of  the 
centre-table,  leaning  her  elbows  upon  it  and  looking 
with  mischievous  eyes  over  her  clasped  fingers  at 
Grace.  She  had  been  sitting  so  for  some  minutes 
while  Grace  was  trying  to  write  to  Horace. 

"You  needn't  look  as  if  earthquakes  were  com 
ing,"  Miss  Graythorn  said,  not  moving  except  to  lift 
her  chin  and  rest  it  on  her  fingers.  "That  is  all  I 


372  EACHEL  STANWOOD. 

know,  and  I  'm  not  going  to  know  any  more,  unless 
I  'm  driven  to,  and  I  'm  not  going  to  tell  anybody 
else  that  I  know  even  so  much.  Sit  down  a^ain, 

O  ' 

beloved,  and  pale  off.     I  've  got  something  to  say." 

Grace  was  as  red  as  a  peony.  She  sat  down  and 
said  in  a  vexed  tone:  "I  don't  think  you  had  better 
say  it,  Adele;  I  'd  rather  talk  about  something  else." 

"Oh  no,  you  would  n't!  "  said  Miss  Graythorn, 
unperturbed.  "Or,  I  should  say,  whatever  you 
might  prefer  to  talk  about,  you  much  prefer  to  think 
and  listen  about  —  him  !  " 

Grace  turned  her  face  sharply  toward  Miss  Gray- 
thorn  with  interrogative  dismay  upon  it. 

"Hm  —  hm!  I  said  so,"  said  Miss  Graythorn. 
"Wait  and  listen  to  what  I  'm  going  to  say.  Don't 
worry  —  you  '11  like  it  so  much  that  you  '11  be  sorry 
when  it  's  over.  Now,  now!  Be  careful!  —  I  don't 
know  any  more  than  I  said  I  did.  So  don't  expect 
any  news,  or  messages,  or  anything  of  that  kind.  I 
don't  want  you  to  flutter.  I  am  going  to  talk  com 
mon-sense,  and  you  won't  take  it  in  if  you  go  to 
fluttering.  Common-sense  tells  me  there  is  a  fellow 
somewhere,  and  that  is  all  I  want  to  know.  Oh-h ! 
Is  n't  it  delicious!  How  I  do  wish  he  was  mine!  " 
She  rolled  her  cheek  over  on  one  of  her  clasped 
hands  and  smiled  as  if  she  saw  a  vision. 

Grace  could  not  help  laughing  as  she  said,  "Oh, 
what  a  goose  you  are,  Adele !  " 

"Oh  no,  my  love!  It  is  you  who  are  the  goose," 
said  Miss  Graythorn.  "I  don't  want  this  particular 
one,  you  know;  wouldn't  take  him  as  a  gift.  But 
I  'd  like  one  of  'em  to  —  to  waken  up  me  being,  stir 


MISS  GRAYTHORN  EXPLAINS.  373 

me  feelings,  play  upon  me  heart-strings  —  No,  he 
need  n't  do  that  either  —  I  'd  play  on  his  —  but  I  'd 
like  him  to  touch  the  chord,  you  know,  as  unmis 
takably  as  it  is  touched  within  your" 

"You  said  you  were  going  to  talk  sense,"  Grace 
said,  laughing  again.  "  It  would  be  exciting  to  hear 
a  little  of  that  from  you.  When  is  it  going  to 
begin?" 

•  "Ah!"  exclaimed  Miss  Graythorn,  dropping  her 
hands  on  the  table.  "Now  I  've  got  her,  and  we  can 
start  immediately.  Get  up!  So-o!  Quiet,  now! 
Quiet !  There !  We  '11  go  along  at  a  nice  little  trot 
to  begin  with,  because  I  want  you  to  hear  all  I  've 
got  to  say.  You  must  n't  miss  a  word,  dear,  for  it 
is  true  what  I  told  you  —  I  am  going  to  be  perfectly 
charming!  " 

She  left  the  table  and  sat  down  on  the  floor,  fold 
ing  her  arms  across  Grace's  lap. 

"You  see,"  she  said,  "I  've  had  a  great  deal  of 
practice  and  I  know  all  about  it.  That  'playing  on 
heart-strings'  and  'touching  the  chord'  was  n't  origi 
nal;  I  know. pages  of  those  things,  all  by  heart.  So 
you  must  remember  that  I  am  a  person  of  experi 
ence,  and  this  is  what  I  want  to  say: —  There  's  a 
Fellow.  He  has  won  Grace  Desborough.  Whoever 
he  is,  he  is  in  luck,  because  he  has  won  her  for  good 
and  all.  She  is  in  lock,  because  he  is  the  kind  of 
fellow  who  knows  the  heart-strings  and  chords  to 
perfection  —  they  call  that  in  music,  'Thorough- 
Bass  '  -  just  for  the  sake  of  brevity,  we  '11  say  that 
he  understands  Thorough-Bass.  Very  well!  Now 
since  those  facts  are  unalterably  settled,  what  is  the 


374  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

use  of  being  miserable?  What  is  to  be  gained  by 
it,  either  way?  If  he  was  like  a  lot  of  others  from 
whom  I  have  had  lessons  in  Thorough-Bass,  he 
might  n't  keep,  and  if  you  were  like  me  you  would  n't 
care  to  wait  for  him  —  but  —  Good  Heavens !  If 
anybody  is  blind  enough  not  to  see  that  the  fellow 
who  has  reduced  you  to  your  present  condition  is 
warranted  well  seasoned,  fine  make,  best  quality  — 
why  that  person  is  doomed  to  discover  the  truth. 
And  as  for  you,  my  belief  is  that,  if  you  don't  look 
out,  those  heart-strings  of  yours  will  break  and 
then  where  will  be  any  use  for  all  his  Thorough- 
Bass? 

"Now  that  is  'firstly'  and  'secondly'  and  as 
many  more  points  as  you  choose  to  make  it.  But 
there  's  a  'finally '  to  come,  and  this  is  where  I  am 
going  to  be  charming.  I  said  I  was  n't  going  to 
know  any  more  unless  I  was  driven  to.  If  you  go 
to  mooning  yourself  sick,  I  shall  feel  driven !  There ! 
Yes,  I  will !  I  'm  not  afraid  of  anybody,  and  I 
shan't  care  who  gets  mad.  My  strings  are  good 
and  tough.  If  I  see  an  occasion  for  it,  I  'm  going 
to  know  all  I  want  to,  and  to  write  all  I  want  to  to 
just  whom  I  please,  and  all  Paris  won't  stop  me! 
There !  Now  I  've  said  my  say,  and  if  you  choose  to 
go  on  dying  of  saintliness,  you  've  had  fair  warning 
and  you  know  what  '11  happen!  " 

Miss  Graythorn's  hands  were  clasped  over  Grace's 
knees ;  she  rested  her  chin  upon  them  and  the  very 
mischief  was  in  her  eyes  as  she  looked  up  and  asked  : 
"Ain't  I  lovely?" 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

IN    THE   NAME   OF   THE   LAW. 

AFTER  Rachel  left  the  little  shanty  in  Gowanus, 
Peggy  tried  to  rouse  Havilah  from  her  depression, 
and  it  was  then  that  she  observed  for  the  first  time 
a  difference  in  her  manner.  She  had  settled  into 
a  silence  which  had  something  unpleasant  in  it. 
Peggy  could  not  make  it  out.  She  wondered  if 
Havilah  regretted  her  decision  to  remain  with  her 
and  Scipio,  or  whether  her  conversation  with  Rachel 
had  only  deepened  the  gloom  of  her  spirits.  As  it 
grew  dusk,  Peggy  went  often  to  the  door  to  see  if 
Scipio  were  in  sight.  Coming  back  from  her  last 
look  down  the  street,  she  was  pleased  to  find  Hav 
ilah  in  the  kitchen,  apparently  waking  to  an  inter 
est  in  what  was  going  on  about  her. 

"I  want  to  do  something,"  she  said.  "No  matter 
what  —  let  me  help  get  supper  fo'  Uncle  Scip." 

"Dat  I  will,  honey;  yo'  can  fix  de  taters  fo'  me 
to  fry,"  said  Peggy,  setting  a  chair  by  the  table  and 
getting  out  from  the  cupboard  such  things  as  were 
necessary  for  the  purpose.  "Ef  on'y  I  can  fin'  my 
tater -knife,"  she  said,  looking  in  various  places 
for  it. 

"Oh,  never  mind  that;  a  common  one  will  do," 
said  Havilah,  sitting  down. 


376  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

"Reckon  it  '11  have  to  dis  time,"  said  Peggy, 
handing  her  a  dinner-knife.  She  still  rummaged  a 
little,  anxious  to  make  Havilah's  work  easy  and 
pleasing  to  her.  "It  's  a  pity,  'coze  I  's  got  sech  a 
nice  leetle  sharp-p'inted  knife  puppose  fo'  veg'ta- 
bles,"  she  said,  giving  up  the  search. 

"This  does  nicely,"  said  Havilah,  cutting  the 
parings  deftly.  In  a  moment  or  so  she  leaned  back 
to  see,  through  the  connecting  doorway,  what  Di 
ana  was  about  in  the  other  room,  and  not  seeing  her 
immediately,  with  sudden  nervousness  called  her 
name  and  half  rose  to  go  after  her. 

"  Laws,  Hab'lah !  Set  still  an'  leab  de  chile  'lone," 
said  Peggy,  and  putting  down  a  pan  with  some  flour 
in  it,  she  went  into  the  parlor,  contradicting  herself 
as  she  went,  saying:  "I  '11  bring  her  in  yer,  whar  yo' 
can  keep  yo'  eyes  on  her." 

She  brought  a  foot-stool  also  and  settled  Diana 
on  it,  with  her  work-basket  and  doll  beside  her. 
"Dah!  "  she  said.  "Sit  yer,  Di,  honey.  Dat  's  a 
lady !  Now  string  all  dem  buttons  on  dis  piece  o' 
fred  an'  make  yo'  mudder  de  pittiest  necklace  she 
ebber  had,  an'  tell  her  yo'  'grees  wid  ole  Aunt 
Peggy  dat  she  's  nerbous  cose  she  's  had  a  heap  too 
much  to  t'ink  'bout  dis  day,  an'  her  min'  better  take 
a  res'.  Dat 's  so,"  she  said  to  Havilah.  "Ef  yo' 
spen'  all  de  time  t'inkin',  yo'  min'  '11  git  used  up 
an'  yo'  won't  have  any  ob  it  left,  jes'  de  time  w'en 
yo'  wants  to  use  it  de  mos'. 

"I  'm  done  thinking,"  Havilah  said  quietly,  and 
she  set  her  lips  together. 

"Well,  dat  's  de  bes'  way,"  said  Peggy,  not  ob- 


IN   THE  NAME  OF  THE  LAW.  377 

serving  the  emphasis  and  proceeding  to  make  some 
biscuit. 

Scipio  came  home,  and  before  long  they  all  sat 
down  to  supper.  During  the  meal  Peggy  told  her 
husband  about  Rachel's  visit,  while  little  Di's  tongue 
kept  up  an  accompanying  prattle  about  the  party 
Miss  Stanwood  and  her  mother  had  had  in  the  par 
lor,  and  the  beautiful  pies  she  had  made  for  it  with 
some  of  Aunt  Peggy's  dough. 

After  the  supper  dishes  were  put  away,  and  the 
kitchen  fire  left  to  go  out,  Peggy  settled  herself  in 
the  parlor,  with  a  pile  of  Scipio's  socks  to  darn,  and 
Havilah  drew  a  chair  up  beside  her  to  help.  In 
spite  of  the  assertions  which  she  had  made  repeat 
edly  as  to  the  safety  of  Havilah  and  Diana  here,  in 
the  colony,  Peggy  had  grown  more  and  more  uneasy 
as  evening  approached  and  almost  wished  that  she 
had  encouraged  her  visitors  to  go  home  with  Rachel. 
She  was  unusually  particular  about  the  windows, 
closed  the  shutters  and  drew  down  the  shades  so  that 
no  one  from  the  outside  could  see  into  the  lighted 
parlor.  As  an  excuse,  she  complained  of  draughts 
and  rheumatism.  She  opened  the  doors  leading  into 
the  kitchen  and  bedroom,  on  the  pretext  of  getting 
sufficient  air  in  that  way,  but  it  was  really  that  she 
might  hear  if  anybody  came  to  the  kitchen  door. 
But  Diana  was  in  gay  spirits.  She  engaged  Scipio 
in  a  frolic  in  which  she  induced  him  to  represent  a 
whole  menagerie  of  animals.  She  often  flung  her 
self  against  her  mother,  laughing  and  trying  to  ex 
act  sympathy  by  claiming  her  protection  from  the 
creatures  which  Scipio  represented.  But  Havilah 


378  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

gave  the  child  no  answering  laugh,  and  was  silent 
through  all  the  play. 

Peggy  looked  at  her  now  and  then,  over  the  rims 
of  her  silver  spectacles,  and  did  not  like  what  she 
saw.  Havilah  worked  at  one  of  Scipio's  blue  cot 
ton  socks  without  knowing  what  she  was  about. 
She  sat  upright,  bent  forward  as  if  she  was  ready 
for  a  spring,  and  when  Peggy  spoke,  or  Diana 
came  bounding  upon  her,  her  eyes  moved  quickly 
to  one  or  the  other  with  an  intense,  expectant  look. 
Yet  she  did  not  understand  what  Peggy  said,  or 
what  Diana  wanted,  and  she  worked  at  the  stocking 
without  needle  or  thread. 

Once  she  caught  the  child  in  her  arms  and  laughed 
in  a  way  so  far  from  being  merry  that  Diana  ex 
claimed,  "Oh,  don't!" 

"Don't  what,  my  darling?"  Havilah  asked,  put- 
ing  her  down. 

"Yo'  hurts  Di,"  the  child  said,  freeing  herself. 
"An'  yo'  looks  Tightened."  Then  with  a  shout  she 
cried:  "Oh,  Uncle  Scip!  Mamma  's  f'ightened  at  a 
lion!  Be  ze  lion  some  mo'.  See,  mamma!"  mak 
ing  a  parade  of  her  courage,  "Di  ain't  af'aid;  he  's 
a  good  lion !  " 

It  was  not  fright  upon  Havilah 's  face,  although 
it  well  might  have  been.  For  outside  the  shanty 
two  men  were  walking  back  and  forth,  trying  to 
find  some  opening  at  the  lighted  windows  through 
which  they  could  peer  in  at  the  frolic.  There  was 
no  need  of  being  cautious,  with  Scipio's  imitations 
of  the  roar  of  lions  and  Diana's  laughter  sounding 
as  loud  as  they  did.  If  one  of  the  men  had  not 


IN  THE  NAME  OF  THE  LAW.  379 

stepped  into  Peggy's  pet  rosebush  and  made  its 
branches  scrape  against  a  pane  of  glass,  close  by 
where  she  sat  darning  stockings,  their  presence 
would  not  have  been  suspected.  But  Peggy,  hear 
ing  the  scratch,  held  her  needle  with  its  thread 
drawn  out,  at  a  full  stop,  until  the  rosebush,  re 
leased,  sprang  back  into  place  and  made  another 
sound  against  the  glass. 

Peggy  put  down  her  work  and  went  quickly  into 
the  next  room,  where  there  was  no  light,  to  look 
out  of  a  \vindow.  She  saw  no  one,  but  in  a  moment 
heard  voices  talking  in  the  dark.  She  could  not 
hear  what  they  said,  because  of  the  noise  Scipio 
and  Diana  were  making. 

"O  Lawd,  dey 's  come!"  she  thought,  and  hur 
ried  back  to  the  parlor  with  her  hand  lifted  to  com 
mand  silence.  But  before  she  could  make  herself 
observed,  a  loud  knock  at  the  front  door  made  her 
husband  and  Diana  suddenly  silent.  Peggy  could 
hear  her  heart  beat. 

"  Open  in  the  name  of  the  law!"  said  a  man's 
voice  outside.  Havilah  sprang  like  a  savage  at  Di 
ana.  Peggy  caught  the  child  away  from  her  mother's 
reach  and  smothered  her  cry  against  herself.  She 
pointed  to  the  stairs  and  whispered  to  Havilah :  "  Go 
up  dah,  fo'  yo'  life!  "  Then  she  carried  Diana  out 
through  the  kitchen. 

"Go,  Hab'lah,  go!"  Scipio  gasped. 

"No!"  said  Havilah,  standing,  white  and  rigid, 
her  right  hand  upon  her  bosom. 

"Open  in  the  name  of  the  law!"  said  Suydan's 
voice  outside,  roughly,  with  another  knock. 


380  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

Havilah  brushed  Scipio  aside  with  the  strength 
of  a  man,  and  herself  unfastened  and  flung  open 
the  door.  She  stepped  back  to  allow  her  master 
and  another  man  to  enter  the  room.  The  stranger 
closed  the  door  behind  them,  and  for  a  few  seconds 
there  was  not  a  sound.  Then  Havilah,  standing 
in  her  motionless  attitude,  with  her  hand  upon  her 
bosom,  said  in  a  dreadful  whisper,  her  eyes  upon 
Suydan's  face:  "Uncle  Scipio,  I  want  Di.  Give 
me  my  child! " 

"Yes,  give  her  the  child!"  said  her  master. 
"There  is  no  help  this  time.  They  are  coming  with 
me  now,  and  it  depends  on  how  quiet  they  are 
whether  we  put  bracelets  on  the  woman  or  not.  Do 
yo'  hear  that,  Havilah?" 

The  other  man  interposed,  saying  in  a  persuasive 
tone:  "Of  course  she's  coming  quiet.  If  there 
ain't  any  struggle,  what's  the  use  of  bein'  rough? 
It 's  plain  'nough  she  ain't  goin'  to  have  anything 
of  that  kind,  'cause  she  understands  the  law.  So," 
to  Scipio,  who  stood  by  the  kitchen  door,  "if  you  '11 
just  allow  me  to  pass  into  that  room  beyond,  an' 
give  us  another  light,  Mister,  I  '11 " 

"Hold  on!  Hold  on,  ef  yo'  please,  a  minute," 
interrupted  Scipio  in  a  pitiful  quaver,  barring  the 
man's  passage.  "We  wants  to  see  de  rights  ob  de 
case,  an'  I  ax  yo'  to  show  de  paper  w'at  gibs  yo' 
de  claim."  He  felt  that  it  was  only  delaying  what 
had  to  be,  but  he  must  do  what  he  could.  Suydan 
handed  him  a  paper,  and  invited  him  to  move  aside 
from  the  door.  Scipio  turned  pitifully  from  Suydan 
to  his  companion,  while  the  paper  shook  in  his  trem- 


IN   THE   NAME  OF  THE  LAW.  381 

bling  hand.  He  did  not  look  at  it,  but  said,  help 
lessly:  "Dey  ain't  nobody  yer  —  Peggy  ain't  yer, 
but,  ef  she  was,  it  would  n't  make  no  difference  — 
dey  ain't  nobody  yer  dat  can  read  de  paper,  on'y 
Hab'lah." 

Suydan  roared  with  laughter,  the  other  man  join 
ing  him.  "Ha!  ha!  ha!  Read  it  to  us,  Uncle, 
read  it!  "  said  Suydan.  "We  're  listening." 

Scipio  ignored  the  two  men  for  a  moment.  Hold 
ing  the  paper  in  one  hand  and  pointing  to  it  with 
the  other,  he  said  to  Havilah,  with  the  infinite  pathos 
of  helplessness:  "Hab'lah,  pore  gell,  w'at  's  on  dis 
bit  ob  paper  means  eberyt'ing  in  yore  life,  to  yo' 
an'  yore  chile.  Ef  dey  's  any  kin'  ob  wrong  state 
ment  yer,  den  dese  men  has  n't  got  de  right  fo'  to 
take  yo'  an'  lill'  Di  'way.  De  bes'  frien's  we  has 
got  of  en  tol'  us  dat.  Can't  yo'  read  de  paper,  pore 
chile?" 

Havilah  did  not  move.  Her  eyes  never  left  her 
master's  face.  But  she  said,  in  a  husky  voice: 
"There  's  no  need  to  read  it  —  he  's  got  the  right. 
He  's  got  the  right  to  take  us,  and  it  is  that  man's 
duty  to  help  him.  If  I  make  trouble,  they  can  put 
the  irons  on  me.  But  the  gentleman  was  right  when 
he  said  we  'd  go  quietly."  Her  right  hand  stayed 
upon  her  bosom ;  with  the  other  she  felt  for  the  door 
of  the  kitchen.  "I  '11  get  the  child,  gentlemen, 
and  yo'  '11  see  how  quietly  yo'  can  take  us  both 
away!  " 

But  the  man  who  was  acting  as  constable  barred 
her  passage,  saying:  "We  can't  let  you  out  of  our 
sight,  ma'am.  I  '11  get  the  child."  He  passed  into 


382  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

the  kitchen,  struck  a  light  and  searched  through  all 
the  little  rooms  for  Diana.  He  went  up  the  stairs 
and  looked  into  every  corner.  As  it  became  mani 
fest  that  Diana  was  not  in  the  house,  Suydan  became 
excited  and  angry.  He  could  not  join  in  the  search 
and  leave  Havilah  to  escape.  She  was  very  pale 
and  trembled  violently.  Scipio,  in  great  distress, 
tried  to  make  her  sit  down  and  repeated  again  and 
again,  to  comfort  her,  "Oh,  Hab'lah  chile,  de  Lawd 
won't  let  it  las'  forebber!"  while  he  went  to  one 
door  or  another  to  see  where  the  constable  was  look 
ing,  and  returned  again,  unwilling  to  leave  Havilah 
alone  with  Suydan.  Peggy  came  back,  by  way  of 
the  kitchen,  just  after  the  constable  had  told  Suydan 
that  the  child  was  not  in  the  house.  Both  men 
turned  upon  Peggy  and  demanded  to  know  where 
the  child  was. 

Peggy  threw  her  arms  around  Havilah  and  an 
swered  their  question  to  her.  "  Hab'lah !  Hab'lah !  " 
she  cried,  "Yore  chile  ain't  yer !  Dey  can't  tech  her 

—  she  ain't  yer!  " 

"God  save  her,  then!  "  cried  Havilah  with  savage 
joy.  She  flung  Peggy's  arms  away  from  her  with 
sudden  violence,  there  was  the  flash  of  a  bright  blade, 
and  then  Havilah  reeled  and  fell  upon  the  floor. 

As  they  bent  over  her,  she  whispered :  "  Take  me 

—  now  —  I  'm  ready  —  to  go  qui —  "  and  then  she 
knew  no  more. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

ANOTHER    LAW. 

HORACE  DESBOROUGH'S  first  brilliant  achieve 
ment  in  his  profession  had  been  in  the  bringing  to 
light  of  a  point  of  law  which  had  been  overlooked 
by  Messrs.  Gray  thorn  and  Benderly  and  by  the  use 
of  which  they  had  won  an  important  case.  Beside 
other  issues,  the  decision  of  the  case  secured  to  their 
client  a  valuable  slave.  In  recognition  of  Horace's 
services  they  had  advanced  his  position  in  their 
office  and,  in  commendation,  Mr.  Benderly  had  said 
to  him  these  words :  "  Your  discovery  of  this  point 
has  aided,  not  only  in  our  main  success,  but  it  has 
helped  largely  in  the  establishment  of  a  principle. 
Your  vigilance  has  resulted  in  an  act  of  justice  by 
which  our  client's  property  is  restored  to  him." 
Horace  had  never  come  into  personal  contact  with 
either  the  client  or  the  property,  and  had,  for  a  time, 
enjoyed  his  distinction  and  reward.  His  pleasure 
in  them  began  to  diminish  very  soon  after  his  ac 
quaintance  with  Rachel  Stanwood  began,  but  since 
his  experience  at  the  time  of  Havilah's  rescue  at 
the  Anti-Slavery  Fair,  he  had  realized  more  and 
more  the  awful  injustice  of  holding  property  in 
slaves,  and  those  words  of  Mr.  Benderly 's  rang  now 
in  his  memory  with  discordant  echoes  which  were 


384  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

exceedingly  painful  to  him.  As  his  feeling  for  Ra 
chel  grew  warmer,  his  memory  of  that  "  act  of  jus 
tice  "  became  more  distressing.  He  longed  to  make 
some  atonement,  to  redeem  it  by  aiding  in  the  es 
cape  of  fugitives,  and  it  seemed  to  him  now  that, 
if  he  could  be  the  means  of  giving  their  freedom  to 
Havilah  and  her  child,  he  could  stand  before  Rachel 
Stanwood  like  a  king.  The  paper  containing  Hav~ 
ilah's  written  answers  to  his  questions  gave  him  all 
the  facts  which  he  wanted.  When  he  left  Rachel, 
he  neither  saw  nor  heard  anything,  as  he  walked 
rapidly  along  the  street.  He  seemed  to  tread  upon 
air,  and,  while  he  held  the  paper  in  his  left  hand, 
which  he  thrust  inside  of  the  breast  of  his  coat,  he 
gesticulated  unconsciously  with  his  free  arm  and  re 
iterated,  under  his  breath:  "Free!  Free!"  Could 
Miss  Graythorn  have  seen  him,  she  'd  have  thought 
him  mad. 

The  answers  Havilah  had  written  gave  Horace 
what  seemed  to  him  the  very  crown  of  victory. 
They  told  him  the  circumstances  under  which  she 
had  been  purchased  by  Suydan,  and  Horace  recog 
nized  from  them  the  fact  that  she  and  her  child  were 
entitled  to  their  freedom,  by  the  law  of  the  State 
in  which  Suydan  had  bought  them.  The  law  pro 
claimed,  "That  if  any  person  or  persons  shall,  after 
the  passing  of  this  act,  bring  any  negro  or  mulatto 
slave  into  this  State,  for  sale  or  otherwise,  the  said 
negro  or  mulatto  slave  is  hereby  declared  free  to  all 
intents  and  purposes."  Horace  knew  every  word  of 
it  by  heart,  and  now  what  he  had  hoped  for  was  true ! 

Havilah  and  Diana  had  both  been  sold  under  cir- 


ANOTHER  LAW.  385 

cumstances  distinctly  prohibited  by  the  law,  and 
Suydaii  had  no  rightful  claim  upon  them.  This 
was  the  golden  bit  of  knowledge  which  Horace  Des- 
borough  had  all  for  his  own,  to  carry  to  Havilah, 
and  to  return  with  afterwards  to  Rachel.  He  trod 
the  ground  like  a  monarch.  His  only  fear  was  lest 
Havilah's  master  might  reach  her  first  and  make 
off  with  her  and  Diana,  before  any  one  could  stop 
him.  If  he  should  be  armed  with  an  official  warrant 
for  their  arrest  they  would  have  to  go  with  him. 
And,  until  he  molested  them,  there  was  no  legal  step 
to  take.  Horace  bent  his  steps  toward  his  lodgings, 
that  he  might  get  Will  Hedges  to  go  with  him  to 
Friend  Holly's  first  of  all.  Friend  Holly  had  helped 
away  so  many  fugitives  that  he  would  understand 
how  to  meet  every  difficulty,  and  there  was  not  a 
minute  to  spare  for  a  blunder. 

Will  had  not  come  home  and  Horace  went  next 
door  to  find  Friend  Holly.  But  the  old  gentleman 
had  gone  to  Newark,  with  Friend  Morton,  on  im 
portant  business,  and  would  not  be  home  until  late. 

Horace  returned  to  wait  for  Will,  fuming  at  the 
delay.  Will  did  not  arrive  for  what  seemed  an  eter 
nity —  half  an  hour  —  and  then  was  aggravatingly 
cool.  He  wanted  to  understand  the  facts  and  Hor 
ace's  authority  for  the  statement  that  Havilah  and 
Diana  were  free,  before  starting  on  their  errand. 
Horace  was  impatient  under  his  questioning  and 
wanted  to  explain  on  the  way. 

"We  might  risk  that,  if  we  had  Friend  Holly 
with  us,  but  we  are  poor  substitutes  for  him,  let  me 
tell  you,"  Will  said. 


386  EACHEL  STANWOOD. 

"Your  coolness  is  maddening!  "  Horace  ex 
claimed.  "There  are  Havilah  and  her  child  in  the 
man's  clutches,  for  all  you  know,  and  your  con 
founded  slowness  is  giving  him  time  to  get  away 
with  them/' 

"Old  fellow,  it  's  the  coolness  that  is  going  to  help 
us  most,"  said  Will,  examining  his  purse.  "Got 
plenty  of  cash?" 

"Yes  —  no!  Jupiter!"  Horace  ejaculated,  as  he 
went  upstairs  three  steps  at  a  time  for  a  supply. 

"We  don't  want  to  find  ourselves  on  the  Brook 
lyn  ferry-boat  with  a  newly  discovered  clog  at  our 
wheels,"  Will  said,  as  they  closed  the  front  door 
behind  them.  If  you  '11  take  my  advice  and  pack 
your  feelings  clown  in  ice  before  you  start  on  this 
business,  you  '11  have  a  better  chance  of  success; 
but  if  you  're  going  to  take  'em  with  you  hot,  that 
kidnapper  may  get  the  better  of  you." 

"That  may  be  practical,  but  it  's  not  human," 
said  Horace.  "I  'm  not  so  thunderingly  sure  that 
it  is  practical,  either;  I  believe  in  meeting  a  fellow 
like  that  on  his  own  ground.  George !  I  wish  I  had 
throttled  him  that  night  at  the  fair." 

"I  am  glad  you  reserved  him  for  this,"  said  Will. 
"But  look  here,  we  've  had  no  dinner  —  we  ought 
to"- 

" Hedges,"  said  Horace,  indignantly,  "if  you  can 
sit  down  and  eat  your  dinner,  with  the  thought  of 
that  poor  woman,  why  do  it;  but  /  propose  to" 

"Hold  up  there!  "  Will  shouted,  hailing  an  omni 
bus.  They  climbed  to  the  top  of  it,  and,  when  they 
had  settled  themselves,  Will  paid  the  fares  and  re- 


ANOTHER  LAW.  387 

marked  to  the  driver:  "It  depends  upon  how  soon 
we  get  to  the  ferry  whether  it  's  half  a  dollar  or 
less  when  we  get  off." 

"All  right.  I  '11  give  yez  double  that,  if  I  don't 
git  yez  there  inside  half  an  hour,"  the  driver  said, 
whipping  up  the  horses,  while  Will  was  saying  to 
Horace :  "You  've  got  to  keep  coal  on  the  fire  if  you 
don't  want  it  to  go  out;  I  am  not  cold-blooded 
enough  to  want  dinner,  but  we  may  be  in  for  another 
fox-hunt  like  last  night's  and  I  want  myself  to  use. 
If  we  see  a  glass  of  milk  we'll  nab  it  —  that's 
all." 

"You  've  redeemed  yourself  with  that  offer  of 
bribery  and  corruption,"  Horace  answered. 

The  rattle  of  the  stage  and  roar  of  street  noises 
were  so  great  that  whatever  they  said  had  to  be 
shouted  in  order  to  be  heard.  Consequently  they 
did  not  try  to  talk  at  all  until  they  were  in  the 
ferry-boat,  and  there  they  said  little. 

When  they  reached  the  settlement  at  Gowanus 
they  perceived  at  once  some  evidences  of  excitement 
which  alarmed  them.  The  people  were  outside  of 
their  shanties,  gathered  into  groups,  and  there  was 
among  them  an  indescribable  atmosphere  of  trouble 
pending.  As  the  young  men  drew  near,  every  one 
whom  they  passed  turned  to  look  at  them.  They 
caught  various  phrases  as  they  hurried  along.  "  Be- 
gorra,  they  're  light  weight  for  cun stables,  so  they 
are!"  came  with  a  shout  from  a  knot  of  men,  and 
then  followed,  from  one  group  or  another,  of  white 
or  colored  people,  such  remarks  and  exclamations  as : 
"Mebby  dey  '11  stan'  by  'em!  Dey  mought  help!  " 


388  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

"Detictives  !     It'll  be    aisy  now."     "Tell  'em!" 
"No,  don'  trus'  'em  !  " 

It  was  too  dark  for  Will  and  Horace  to  distinguish 
the  colored  from  the  white  people  until  they  came 
near.  As  they  did  so  they  heard  crying  and  piteous 
sounds  here  and  there.  "What  is  it?"  they  asked, 
but  did  not  wait  for  an  answer.  Scipio's  cottage, 
standing  apart  from  the  others,  looked  dark.  In 
answer  to  Will's  knock,  Peggy  opened  the  door 
almost  instantly. 

"Massa  Will  !  Oh,  bress  de  Lawd  fo'  sen'in' 
yo'  !  "  she  exclaimed  in  a  husky  voice,  and,  grasping 
his  arm,  she  almost  dragged  him  into  the  room. 
The  poor  woman  trembled  from  head  to  foot  and 
looked  suspiciously  at  Horace,  whom  she  did  not 
recognize.  Will  covered  her  hands  with  his  own 
and  tried  to  reassure  her,  saying:  "He  's  a  friend, 
Aunt  Peggy  —  the  best  friend  Havilah  has  got  in 
the  world.  Where  are  Havilah  and  Di  ?  Where  's 
Uncle  Scip?  " 

Horace,  too,  said,  in  suspense:  "Where  is  Hav 
ilah?  We  've  come  to  save  her !  Are  we  too  late?  " 

Peggy  tried  to  speak,  but  her  voice  would  not 
come.  She  drew  Will  toward  the  adjoining  room, 
her  lips  moving  with  Havilah's  name. 

An  exclamation  of  horror  burst  from  the  young 
men  as  they  saw  the  motionless  figure  of  Havilah 
stretched  upon  the  bed.  Horace  was  the  first  to 
bend  over  it. 

"What  has  happened?"  he  cried.  "In  God's 
name  try  to  tell  us  who  "  —  He  could  not  finish, 
and  pointed  to  Havilah. 


ANOTHER  LAW.  389 

They  had  to  wait  until  Peggy  could  speak.  She 
had  been  strong  and  self-possessed  through  all  the 
terrible  scene ;  but  now,  in  the  presence  of  sympathy, 
she  had  broken  down.  Will  Hedges  helped  her  to 
a  chair  and  comforted  her  as  patiently  and  gently  as 
he  would  have  comforted*  his  mother.  Presently 
she  told  them,  brokenly  and  in  a  high,  strained 
voice,  what  had  happened:  "Dey  come  fo'  her  an' 
de  chile  —  bofe.  I  got  de  chile  'way  —  ober  to  de 
neighbors.  Wen  I  come  back  dey  was  tryiii'  fo'  to 
take  her.  Fo'  to  take  Hab'lah  —  an'  she  done  it! 
She  hed  my  —  knife !  She" —  Trying  to  tell 
about  it  restored  Peggy  to  consciousness  of  the  pres 
ent  moment  and  its  terrible  necessity.  She  threw 
herself  upon  her  knees  by  the  bed,  bent  over  Hav- 
ilah,  listened  to  her  heart,  and  then  began  to  bathe 
her  face  with  camphor,  rub  her  hands  and  make 
every  effort  to  restore  her.  "It  airft  done!  "  she 
cried  in  an  awful  whisper.  "It  ain't  done!  "  She 
straightened  herself  on  her  knees,  looked  up  at  Will 
and  appealed  to  him  in  an  agony  :  —  "Oh,  massa 
Will!  Massa  Will,  tell  me  w'at  to  do!  Dey 's 
hunt  in'  her  chile !  Dey  's  comin'  back  yer,  w'en  dey 
fin's  her !  An  —  an'  dey  's  life  yer."  Her  hand  was 
on  Havilah's  breast.  "Dey  's  Life  fightin'  wid  de 
Lawd  fo'  de  mudder,  an'  I'm prayin9  fo9  de  Lawd 
to  beat  ''fore,  dey  comes  back!  " 

"No!  No,  Aunt  Peggy!  "  cried  Horace.  "Don't 
pray  for  that !  Save  her  if  you  can !  Save  her  to 
tell  her  she  is  free  and  that  her  child  is  free !  Make 
her  know  just  that,  while  I  go  bring  " 

Horace  tore  out  of  the  cottage  with  the  words 


390  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

upon  his  lips.  He  staggered  in  the  darkness,  but 
soon  made  his  way  to  a  point  where  groups  were 
gathered  around  one  of  the  shanties.  There  was 
such  a  confusion  of  voices  that  for  some  minutes 
Horace  could  get  no  one  to  listen  to  his  questions, 
but  at  last  he  learned  that  a  slaveholder  and  a  con 
stable  were  in  the  shanty  and  were  expected  every 
moment  to  come  out  of  it  with  a  slave  child  for  whom 
they  were  searching. 

"They  've  caught  the  mother,  and  they  've  got  her 
safe  in  irons  wid  a  guard  over  her,  in  there,"  a  man 
said,  pointing  to  Scipio's.  "The  hack's  waitin'  at 
the  earner,  an'  yez  can  jine  the  crowd  in  escartin'  of 
thim"- 

Horace  forced  a  passage  for  himself  into  the  house. 

Inside  there  was  a  pitiful  scene.  Scipio,  in  the 
centre  of  it,  was  trying  to  quiet  the  convulsive  sobs 
of  little  Di,  who  was  clinging  to  his  neck  with  all 
her  strength.  Three  colored  people  —  two  men  and 
a  woman  —  were  hopelessly  trying  to  plead  for  the 
child's  liberty;  to  get  Mr.  Suydan  to  listen  to  their 
proposal  to  buy  her  and  their  promises  to  pay  for 
her  in  installments.  "We  can  get  heaps  o'  money 
by  takin'  collections,  an'  we  's  got  savin's  too,"  the 
woman  urged. 

Mr.  Suydan  was  demanding  that  the  child  be  at 
once  handed  over  to  the  constable,  who  was  attempt 
ing  to  take  Diana  from  Scipio. 

Horace  made  his  way  to  them  and  laid  his  hand 
upon  Scipio's  shoulder.  "Back!"  he  commanded 
the  constable.  "You  are  breaking  the  law!  The 
child  is  free ! ' 


ANOTHER  LAW.  391 

His  voice  rang  out  loud  and  clear. 

There  was  a  burst  of  indignation  from  Suydan,  and 
a  united  cry  of  deliverance  from  the  colored  people, 
mingled  together. 

Suydan  broke  out  in  wrath  about  his  right  to  his 
property,  his  order  for  the  arrest  of  his  slaves,  and 
the  danger  there  was  to  any  one  who  interfered. 
Horace  faced  him  with  a  repetition  that  the  slaves 
were  free,  and  contested  until  explanation  was  pos 
sible.  He  demanded  to  see  the  warrant  for  the 
arrest  of  Havilah  and  her  child.  Suydan  answered 
by  questioning  fiercely  Horace's  right  to  interfere. 
Scipio  said  beseechingly :  "  Is  dat  true  w'at  yo'  sade  ? 
Is  de  chile  free?  Fo'  de  Lawd's  sake,  don't  say  it, 
ef  it  ain't  true !  Fo'  de  Lawd's  sake,  don't,  Massa !  " 

The  other  colored  people  in  the  room  were  silent, 
following  with  intense  anxiety  every  word  of  the 
speakers.  Diana's  sobs  made  an  incessant  monotone 
of  grief. 

"It  is  true!  "  Horace  said.  "The  law  made  both 
mother  and  child  free  the  day  this  man  bought 
them  in  " 

He  was  interrupted  by  Suydan 's  imprecations, 
demands  for  proof,  and  assertions  of  his  claims.  In 
the  midst  of  the  altercation  Will  Hedges  appeared. 
With  quieter  force  he  demanded  to  see  the  warrant 
which  Suydan  had  shown  to  Scipio.  Suydan  did 
not  produce  it  and  claimed  that  it  was  nobody's 
business  but  his  own  and  the  constable's.  "  The 
constable  had  seen  it  and  that  was  enough,"  he 
said. 

Will  surprised  him  by  saying  quietly:    "If  he  is 


392  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

a  constable!"  Then,  when  Suydan  only  swore  at 
him,  without  answering,  he  said :  "  It  is  useless  for 
you  to  fight  this  question,  sir.  If  you  will  listen, 
this  gentleman  and  I  will  explain." 

Suydan  listened  at  last.  Horace  quoted  the  Del 
aware  law  and  read  from  a  paper  the  statements 
which  Havilah  had  written  as  to  the  time  and  place 
of  Suydan 's  purchase  of  herself  and  child. 

"  If  your  warrant  is  a  good  one,  you  can  take  the 
child,"  Will  said,  "but  you  will  be  arrested  after 
wards  and  have  to  pay  the  penalty.  Your  hesi 
tation  to  show  the  warrant  looks  as  if  you  might 
prefer  to  wait  and  have  us  arrested,  at  our  office, 
to-morrow.  We  will  produce  the  child  in  court  when 
we  are  summoned  to  do  so,  and  there  you  will  have 
an  opportunity  to  dispute  Delaware  law." 

It  took  a  little  time  to  make  Suydan,  in  his 
anger,  understand  that  the  two  young  men  knew 
what  they  were  talking  about.  He  was  reminded 
by  his  man,  who  was  not  a  constable,  that  the  odds 
would  be  against  him  "  if  the  people  outside  got  hold 
of  the  idea  that  the  niggers  were  free  and  saw  them 
taken  away."  Suydan  was  less  afraid  of  the  small 
crowd  outside  than  he  was  of  the  ability  of  Messrs. 
"Hedges  &  Desborough,"  whose  names  he  read 
upon  the  card  which  Will  had  given  him,  to  make 
subsequent  trouble  for  him.  He  was  liberal  with 
rough  and  angry  talk,  but  finally  took  his  departure 
with  his  companion. 

After  they  were  fairly  out  of  the  way,  Will 
Hedges  made  the  simple  statement  to  the  people 
outside  that  the  men  had  labored  under  a  mistake, 


ANOTHER  LAW.  393 

and  had  discovered  that  neither  Havilah  nor  her 
child  belonged  to  them.  The  people  gradually  dis 
persed  to  their  homes,  some  feeling  defrauded,  the 
negroes  elated.  The  few  who  were  inside  of  the 
shanty  were  easily  persuaded  to  avoid  the  excite 
ment  which  might  follow,  if  the  fact  of  the  fugitives' 
freedom  were  made  known  to  so  many  people  at 
once. 

Before  long  all  was  silent  in  the  neighborhood, 
and  the  only  lights  to  be  seen  anywhere  were  in 
Scipio's  shanty.  Around  the  bed  where  Havilah 
lay,  the  little  company  of  watchers  sat  waiting,  in 
the  hope  that  a  gleam  of  consciousness  would  come 
upon  her  face.  At  last  it  came.  Havilah 's  eyes 
opened  wide  and  fixed  themselves  upon  Aunt 
Peggy  bending  over  her. 

"Does  yo'  know  me,  Hab'lah?  Yo'  knows  ole 
Aun'  Peggy?"  Peggy  asked  the  question  softly, 
but  Havilah  heard  and  said  after  her:  "Aunt 
Peggy!" 

"Yes,  honey,"  said  Peggy,  in  that  sweet  intona 
tion  which  is  only  heard  at  the  bedsides  of  the  dy 
ing.  "I  's  yer,  honey.  An'  Fill  Di  is  yer.  She  's 
right  yer,  honey  —  does  yo'  see  Di,  Hab'lah?" 

Peggy  gently  moved  to  give  her  place  to  Horace, 
who  was  holding  Di  in  his  arms. 

"Tell  her  —  she'll  hear  you  now,"  whispered 
Will,  behind  him.  "It  is  for  you  to  tell  her." 

"Do  you  see  her,  Havilah?  Your  own  child?" 
asked  Horace. 

"Di!"  gasped  Havilah,  alarm  coming  suddenly 
into  her  face.  Horace  bent  over  her  with  Diana 


394  EACHEL  STANWOOD. 

and  said :  "  Di  all  safe,  Havilah !  And  free !  We 
found  it  out  for  you,  that  you  and  your  little  child 
are  free.  Oh,  Havilah,  try  to  hear  it!  Try  to  un 
derstand  it !  You  are  not  a  slave !  Your  child  is 
not  a  slave !  You  are  both  free !  " 

Havilah's  eyes  turned  upon  Diana's  face.  They 
rested  there  an  instant,  and  her  look  of  alarm 
changed  and  softened.  Horace  lifted  her  hand  and 
laid  it  gently  on  the  child's  hair.  "Speak  to  her, 
dear,"  he  coaxed.  But  Diana  only  began  to  cry 
softly. 

"Did  you  hear  me,  Havilah,  what  I  said?"  Hor 
ace  asked  again. 

"I  heard!  "  she  said  faintly,  and  then,  in  a  mo 
ment,  in  a  clear  voice  she  cried  out :  "Free !  "  And, 
with  a  radiant  smile,  and  her  eyes  full  upon  Horace 
Desborough's  face,  she  died. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

"FAILED?" 

THE  next  afternoon  Rachel  sat  at  her  piano  play 
ing  softly  to  herself,  and  thinking.  She  knew  the 
whole  story.  Will  Hedges  had  come  in  the  morning, 
before  going  down  to  the  office,  and  told  them  all 
about  it.  He  had  told  it  beautifully  and  had  said 
things  about  Horace  Desborough  which  made  Ra 
chel's  heart  swell  with  pride.  She  knew  it  all,  from 
beginning  to  end,  and  was  glad  her  mother  and 
father  and  she  had  had  Will's  account  of  what  Mr. 
Desborough  had  done.  How  would  he  tell  it?  He 
would  make  Will  the  hero  of  his  story,  she  sup 
posed.  She  smiled  over  the  keys,  with  her  little 
trust  of  the  justice  he  would  do  himself.  All  the 
same  she  was  disappointed  because  he  had  not  come. 
After  he  and  she  had  gone  to  the  Anti-Slavery  Stan 
dard  office,  and  to  the  Tombs,  together,  and  especially 
after  he  had  made  such  a  point  of  her  getting  Hav- 
ilah's  answers  to  his  questions,  she  had  fully  ex 
pected  him  to  come  and  tell  her  what  there  was  to 
tell.  But  he  had  asked  Will,  as  a  favor,  to  come 
up  and  tell  the  story  to  them,  as  if  he  preferred  not 
to  do  it  himself.  She  wondered  why.  Perhaps  be 
cause  it  was  such  a  pitiful  story.  Oh,  how  pitiful ! 
How  pitiful !  Rachel  stopped  playing  and  covered 


396  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

her  face,  the  horror  of  it  coming  over  her  again  as 
it  had  been  coming  all  day. 

Yes,  dreadful  as  it  was,  she  would  rather  he  had 
come  himself.  She  began  playing  one  of  the  "  Songs 
Without  Words."  A  picture  came  before  her  of 
Mr.  Desborough,  after  he  had  taken  her  hand.  He 
had  spoken  of  his  longing  to  do  a  noble  thing  as  if 
it  were  a  deed  of  justice  —  something  required  of 
him  in  atonement  for  a  mistake.  That  was  his  way ; 
he  would  think  of  such  an  act  as  of  a  duty.  And 
he  had  spoken  of  doing  it  in  order  to  make  himself 
worthy  of  -  She  broke  off  again  in  her  playing, 
unwilling  to  allow  her  thoughts  to  go  any  farther 
than  his  words  had  gone.  She  put  her  hand  against 
her  cheek.  That  was  the  hand  he  had  kissed,  and 
he  had  asked  not  to  be  forgiven  for  it!  Rachel 
blushed  red,  all  by  herself,  to  remember  how  he 
said  that.  He  would  never  have  said  it,  or  have 
kissed  her  hand  so,  unless  — 

Yet  it  might  easily  be  that  he  thought  of  her  only 
as  of  an  intimate  friend.  She  was  responsible,  more 
than  anybody  was,  for  his  feeling  against  slavery, 
and  he  came  to  her,  naturally,  with  that  as  a  bond 
between  them.  She  responsible !  It  was  his  own 
nobleness  —  he  must  have  come  to  it,  just  the  same, 
sooner  or  later.  Of  course  he  must.  May  be  — 
why  of  course  it  was  possible  that  he  cared  for  some 
body  else.  How  could  he  care  for  her  more  than 
for  anybody?  The  thought  was  absurd.  Why, 
Gracie  must  be  a  thousand  times  dearer  than  she 
could  be  to  him.  Poor  little  Gracie !  If  she,  Ra 
chel,  could  only  be  in  Miss  Gray  thorn's  place,  to 


"FAILED?"  397 

take  Gracie  in  her  arms  and  -  It  used  to  be 
said  that  Mr.  Desborough  admired  Miss  Gray  thorn. 
May  be  that  was  true.  How  strange  it  was  to  go 
back  to  those  first  days  of  their  acquaintance  —  hers 
and  Mr.  Desborough' s!  That  evening  when  they 
first  met  and  he  had  seemed  so  grand  and  distant ! 
She  did  not  like  him  then,  and  what  was  that  she 
had  said  to  Susy  Morton  at  the  fair,  when  he  called 
Miss  Saunders  "Mrs.  Noah"?  She  had  said  she 
despised  him !  Oh,  how  strange  to  get  back  to  that 
time!  Kachel's  fingers  were  trailing  off  into  idle 
playing,  scraps  of  tunes,  interwoven  anyhow  and 
expressionless;  her  mind  was  too  far  away  from 
them  to  make  them  mean  anything. 

Yes,  the  girls  called  him  "My  Lord  Duke  "  then. 
The  title  was  not  so  very  far  out  of  the  way ;  there 
was  something  lordly  about  him  and  always  would 
be.  She  had  meant  then  to  keep  him  at  a  distance, 
but  she  had  not  done  it  very  perfectly.  What  would 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Desborough  think  of  her?  What 
sort  of  a  family  commotion  was  it  going  to  make 
if  -  Things  were  different  now ;  he  was  a  differ 
ent  map.  He  had  dropped  the  life  he  was  leading 
then,  and  instead,  he  was  living  the  best  one  a  man 
could  live.  He  had  sacrificed  everything  for  a  great 
principle.  How  grandly  he  broke  with  that  firm! 
And  his  father  and  mother  condemned  him  for  it. 
They  had  left  him  to  be  poor,  instead  of  rich.  No, 
there  was  nothing  to  worry  about,  so  far  as  they 
were  concerned.  They  had  left  him  to  himself,  and 
they  could  have  nothing  to  say  now,  if  she  —  Her 
heart  began  suddenly  to  beat  fast ;  the  bell  had  rung, 


398  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

and  now  the  parlor  door  opened  and  Mr.  Desbor- 
ough  came  in.  She  could  not  advance  a  single  step, 
for  although  she  told  herself,  no  matter  how  many 
times,  that  it  could  not  be  so,  she  knew  perfectly 
well  what  was  coming. 

She  had  risen  and  was  steadying  herself  by  the 
piano.  Horace  stood  before  her  looking  not  at  all 
triumphant  as  she  had  expected  him  to,  but  jaded 
and  depressed.  He  did  not  even  come  forward  to 
meet  her,  and  the  hand  she  had  extended  half  way 
dropped  at  her  side.  He  was  very  pale  and  looked 
as  if  he  had  met  with  some  great  disappointment. 

"I  was  absurdly  confident  yesterday,"  he  said. 
"I  thought  I  could  do  something,  but  it  was  a  piece 
of  conceit  —  I  could  n't.  It  was  too  late,  Miss 
Stanwood  —  I  failed !  " 

"Failed?"  she  asked,  with  a  quick,  proud  poise 
of  her  head.  "Will  has  been  here  and  told  us  all 
about  it,  Mr.  Desborough  —  how  you  carried  the 
little  girl  in  your  arms  and  "  — 

"Yes,  the  child  is  all  right,  I  know,"  he  said  sadly, 
"but,"  with  a  hopeless  little  gesture,  "  I  could  do 
nothing  for  the  mother." 

She  caught  up  his  words  and  cried:  "Nothing? 
You  call  it  nothing?  You  call  it  nothing  to  be  the 
one  person  among  us  all  to  find  out  that  she  was 
free,  and  that  her  child,  whom  she  loved  more  than 
life,  a  thousand  times,  was  free  ?  You  did  all  that 
anybody  could!  You  saved  the  child,  and,  because 
your  heart  is  great  and  noble,  you  carried  the  little 
thing  yourself,  in  your  arms,  to  the  dying  mother 
and  —  and  made  her  know  at  the  last  that  she  was 


"FAILED?"  399 

free!  You  took"  Rachel's  sentences  came  in 
broken  phrases  now.  Her  heart  felt  as  if  it  were 
bursting,  and  quick,  heavy  tears  were  falling  over 
her  cheeks.  "You  took  the  mother  all  she  wanted 
in  this  world  —  her  child' s  freedom  !  And  oh,  you 
don't  know !  You  don't  know !  You  call  it  nothing, 
and  you  've  got  poor  Havilah's  dying  gratitude  to 
remember  all  your  life !  "  She  leaned  over  the  piano 
and  hid  her  face  in  both  hands. 

Where  was  any  defeat  or  disappointment?  Hor 
ace  looked  as  if  he  had  won  the  victory  of  his  life. 

"Rachel!  "  He  spoke  her  name  very  softly,  bent 
over  her  and  said :  "Then  I  may  ask  you  now  never 
to  forgive  what  I  did  yesterday?" 

He  took  quiet  possession  of  her,  but  her  face  was 
hidden  still.  Presently  he  asked:  "And  you  do 
not  believe  me,  when  I  tell  you  that  I  have  nothing 
to  offer  you?  " 

"No!"  she  said,  with  the  quick  uplifting  of  her 
head  again.  "It  is  not  true!  It  is  not  true! " 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 
MISS  MAC  CLARE'S  POPULARITY. 

OF  all  the  sinners  who  ever  found  a  refuge  in 
Mr.  Stanwood's  house,  Tibbie  MacClare  was  one 
of  the  most  hopeless.  Her  story  had  to  grow  more 
and  more  dreary  as  it  went  along,  and  there  was  no 
help  for  it.  We  are  nearly  at  the  end  of  it,  and 
will  not  dwell  upon  it  any  longer  than  is  necessary. 
If  it  had  no  connection  with  Havilah,  it  might  have 
been  omitted  here  altogether,  as  might  the  stories  of 
others  who  came  in  and  went  out  through  the  Stan- 
woods'  door  during  the  same  period.  But  as  Hav 
ilah  and  Tibbie  came  together,  and  each  affected 
the  life  of  the  other;  as  Tibbie  was  the  tool  which 
presented  itself  conveniently  to  Havilah's  master; 
and  as  he  was  accountable  for  this  last  part  of  her 
story  coming  out  as  it  does,  we  must  follow  it  as 
well  as  we  can. 

After  Miss  MacClare  left  Mr.  Stanwood's  house, 
it  looked,  to  the  casual  observer  and  from  all  out 
ward  appearances,  as  if  she  had  greatly  bettered 
her  condition.  She  was  taken  at  once  by  Mr.  Suy- 
dan  to  a  hotel  in  the  lower  part  of  the  city,  where  he 
had  procured  for  her  a  position  which  was  both 
profitable  and  agreeable.  It  was  that  of  companion 
to  the  wife  of  the  landlord,  and  the  salary  paid  for  it 


MISS  MAC  CLARE'S  POPULARITY.  401 

was  excellent.  It  supplied  Miss  MacClare  with  a 
wardrobe  much  more  suitable  for  her,  to  her  own 
thinking,  than  were  the  made-over  clothes  of  Miss 
Stan  wood,  even  with  Miss  Ri  version's  silk  dress 
thrown  in.  And  Miss  MacClare's  duties  were  light 
and  pleasing.  She  was  in  the  position  of  a  lady, 
and  all  that  was  required  of  her  was  that  she  should 
make  herself  agreeable  to  the  ladies  and  gentlemen 
who  frequented  the  house.  With  her  voice,  this 
was  not  difficult.  The  house  was  very  popular 
through  the  summer,  and  its  visitors  had  the  advan 
tage  of  hearing  every  evening  a  beautiful  voice  sing 
in  the  most  entertaining  and  attractive  way  possible, 
without  either  expense  or  exertion.  They  could 
order  up  their  songs,  too,  as  they  did  their  omelettes, 
which  was  an  advantage  over  more  public  enter 
tainments.  And  Miss  MacClare,  being  at  last  in 
her  element,  where  she  felt  she  belonged,  was  most 
accommodating.  It  was  her  business  to  be  so  now, 
tand  it  was  much  easier  than  making  beds,  dusting, 
and  everlasting;  sewing:.  She  was  not  teased  with 

O  O 

continual  advice  and  preaching,  either.  She  did 
not  have  to  listen  any  more  to  Mr.  Kreutsohn's 
sermons.  She  remembered  the  drift  of  them,  how 
ever,  and  they  served  her  a  good  turn  very  often  ; 
for  she  was  an  excellent  mimic,  and  worked  them  up 
into  some  capital  performances,  with  songs  intro 
duced,  for  the  parlor  companies.  There  were  quite 
a  number  of  sketchy  little  scenes  which  she  made 
up  from  her  experiences  at  the  Stan  woods'.  She 
collected  a  fund  of  them,  which  were  really  valuable 
and  added  much  that  was  amusing  to  her  repertory. 


402  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

There  was  one  noticeable  omission  in  them  all  —  she 
never  brought  into  them  any  representation  whatever 
of  a  single  member  of  the  Stan  wood  family.  She 
had  seen  plenty  of  material,  but  she  never  used  it. 
Mr.  Suydan  had  cut  short  one  of  her  first  perform 
ances  at  the  hotel  by  calling  for  a  "a  Stanwood  or 
two."  The  suggestion  acted  as  an  extinguisher  on 
Tibbie  for  the  rest  of  the  evening.  There  was  110 
bringing  of  her  back  to  a  mood  for  merry-making 
on  that  occasion. 

But  the  visitors  at  the  hotel  got  their  money's 
worth,  and  made  much  of  Miss  MacClare.  If  they 
wanted  new  songs  or  imitations,  they  invited  her  to 
go  with  them  to  the  theatre  and  witness  the  original 
performances ;  and  her  quick  ear,  good  memory  and 
wit  rewarded  them  for  their  generosity.  Mr.  Suy 
dan,  who  was  an  occasional  visitor  at  the  hotel, 
particularly  enjoyed  her  society,  and  she  regarded 
him  as  her  stanchest  and  most  valuable  friend. 
Her  gratitude  to  him  was  unbounded,  and  she  un 
dertook  with  zest  the  commission  with  which  he 
entrusted  her,  when  he  first  took  her  to  her  present 
home.  She  was  very  faithful  in  her  efforts  to  dis 
cover  for  him  where  Havilah  and  Diana  were  con 
cealed.  It  was  by  means  of  her  letters  that  he  was 
saved  from  wasting  time  by  looking  for  them  during 
the  summer;  and  he  returned  to  the  hotel  in  the 
autumn  because  she  wrote  to  him  that  she  had  taken 
another  trip  to  Brooklyn  and  seen  Diana  "helping  the 
old  nigger  in  his  garden."  She  intimated  in  the 
letter  that,  as  she  knew  Havilah  could  not  stay  away 
from  her  child  more  than  a  week  or  two  at  a  time, 


MISS  MAC  CLARE'S  POPULARITY.  403 

"a  watch  of  the  nigger's  shanty  might  easily  result  in 
trapping  both."  Miss  MacClare's  advice  was  acted 
upon.  Mr.  Suydan  came  at  once  to  the  city  and 
showed  his  gratitude  to  Tibbie  by  making  love  to 
her.  Into  the  little  week  of  this  visit  he  managed 
to  put  the  crown  and  summit  of  her  happiness. 
That  is,  he  kept  her  on  the  summit  and  promised 
her  the  crown,  in  the  form  of  a  wedding  bonnet. 
For  on  the  day  when  Mr.  Suydan  should  return 
with  his  recovered  property  to  Delaware,  Miss  Mac- 
Clare  looked  forward  to  returning  with  him  —  not 
Miss  MacClare  any  longer,  but  Mrs.  Lockwood 
Suydan ! 

To  make  the  return  triumphant  and  speedy,  Miss 
MacClare  devoted  herself  to  aiding  in  the  recovery  of 
Havilah  and  Diana.  Early  every  morning  she  made 
a  trip  all  the  way  to  Scipio's  shanty  and  spent  hours 
in  its  neighborhood,  on  the  watch  for  a  visit  from 
Havilah.  When  Mr.  Desborough  and  Miss  Stan- 
wood  met  her  walking  with  Mr.  Suydan  on  Broad 
way,  she  had  just  returned  in  hot  haste  from  Brook 
lyn,  and  had  reported  that  Havilah  and  Diana  were 
under  the  same  roof,  and  that  the  opportunity  for 
surprising  them  had  come.  Suy dan's  gratitude  was 
such  that  he  was  taking  Tibbie  to  buy  the  wedding 
bonnet.  It  was  an  act  of  especial  gallantry  on  his 
part,  but  he  owed  something  to  Tibbie.  And,  as  he 
decided  that  it  would  be  best  to  wait  until  evening 
for  his  call  at  the  shanty,  there  was  plenty  of  time. 
And  Tibbie  was  a  source  of  much  amusement  to 
him ;  he  did  not  grudge  her  the  bonnet. 

When  the  evening  came  and  Mr.  Suydan  departed 


404  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

011  his  errand,  Miss  MacClare  was  in  such  gay  spirits 
that  she  entertained  the  hotel  guests  in  her  liveliest 
manner. 

This  was  to  be  her  last  performance,  and  it  was 
certainly  her  best.  The  company  had  everything 
they  called  for.  Tibbie  had  never  been  so  amusing, 
so  clever,  or  so  attractive.  She  almost  looked  pretty, 
with  a  bright  color  in  her  cheeks,  a  glitter  in  her 
eyes,  her  animation  and  high  spirits.  The  people 
who  applauded  her  had  no  idea  that  she  was  going 
to  leave  them.  Oh,  no !  They  knew  nothing  what 
ever  about  her  marriage.  That  was  to  surprise 
everybody.  Perhaps  she  would  leave  a  little  note 
with  the  landlady,  who  would  read  it  first  herself  and 
then  to  the  company.  Or  may  be  Mr.  Suydan  would 
tell  the  landlady,  just  before  they  went  away,  and 
leave  her  to  announce  her  marriage  to  the  others 
as  she  pleased.  It  did  not  make  any  difference  to 
Tibbie  —  Mr.  Suydan  might  arrange  it  to  suit  him 
self.  And  Tibbie's  voice  rang  clear  and  echoed 
through  the  rooms  with  its  richest  power,  the  notes 
pouring  themselves  out  of  the  very  gladness  of  her 
soul. 

"  What  was  it  they  were  asking  ?  Was  she  tired  ?  " 
"  Oh  no,  no !  She  would  sing  anything  in  the  world 
they  wanted."  "A  scene  with  the  German  gentle 
man  ?  With  his  organ-' woices  '  ?  "  "  Oh,  yes !  She 
never  felt  more  like  it. ' '  And  she  never  did  it  so 
well.  Her  representation  was  not  at  all  suggestive 
of  our  dear  friend  whom  Eachel,  Betty,  and  Dick 
Stan  wood  called  "Uncle  Franz  Kreutsohn  ;  "  it  was 
an  original  production  of  Miss  MacClare 's,  with  yari- 


MISS  MAC  CLARE'S  POPULARITY.  405 

ations  suggested  by  things  she  had  seen  at  the 
theatre.  It  was  vastly  amusing.  Miss  MacClare 
went  from  that  to  another  and  another  scene,  with 
songs  in  between,  and  charmed  her  audience  into  all 
forgetf ulness  of  time.  She  did  not  weary  them  by 
continuing  one  strain  too  long;  her  performance 
was  judiciously  shaded  by  an  occasional  song  which 
was  serious.  Perhaps,  however,  this  was  due  to  the 
company,  who  called  for  the  songs  when  they  grew 
tired  of  laughing.  For  Miss  MacClare 's  mood  this 
evening  was  one  of  unalloyed  gayety,  and  she  sang 
"John  Anderson"  and  "Auld  Robin  Gray  "  out  of 
pure  good  nature,  not  because  she  felt  like  it.  She 
enacted  the  latter  with  particular  spirit,  mentally 
contrasting  the  woes  of  "Young  Jamie's  "  sweetheart 
with  her  own  happiness  which  was  to  begin  to 
morrow.  She  wound  up  the  entertainment  with  the 
cleverest  of  all  her  scenes,  which  she  called  "A 
Party  in  Washington  Square."  In  this  scene  she 
represented  her  idea  of  high  life,  in  its  most  fash 
ionable  aspect.  She  assumed  the  part  of  hostess 
and  guests  in  turn,  and  even  cleverly  introduced  her 
own  personality,  calling,  in  the  character  of  hostess, 
upon  "  Miss  MacClare  to  favor  the  company  with  a 
song."  It  must  be  confessed  that  her  personifica 
tion  of  Mrs.  Biverston  was  excellent,  but  that  of 
many  others  was  overdrawn,  or  absolutely  original. 
Nobody  could  possibly  have  recognized  some  of  the 
abolitionists  from  her  interpretations,  and  her  con 
ception  of  a  Quaker  was  as  far  from  correct  as  the 
comic  -  paper  or  minstrel  conception  of  the  negro. 
But  it  made  no  difference  to  Miss  MacClare 'a  audi- 


406  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

ence;  they  were  more  than  satisfied.  When  they 
finally  released  her  and  separated,  it  was  with  over 
whelming  expressions  of  their  obligation  and  un 
bounded  admiration  of  her  talent. 

And  for  Miss  MacClare,  her  sense  of  what  the 
morrow  was  to  bring  was  so  exhilarating  that  the 
very  thought  of  sleep  was  impossible.  She  spent 
the  rest  of  the  night  in  sorting  and  packing  her 
things,  so  that,  however  early  the  bridegroom  might 
call  for  her,  he  would  find  her  ready  and  waiting 
for  him.  But  there  was  no  need  for  her  so  to  ex 
haust  her  strength;  it  only  paled  her  cheeks  and 
made  her  head  dizzy  to  no  purpose.  For  break 
fast  time  came  and  was  over  with,  the  hours  of  the 
forenoon  dragged  slowly  by  with  length  that  seemed 
interminable,  and  Miss  MacClare 's  luncheon  was 
brought  in  upon  a  tray,  yet  no  bridegroom  appeared. 
But  there  came  a  message  from  him.  When  the 
waiter  set  down  the  tray,  he  handed  Miss  MacClare 
a  letter  which  Mr.  Suydan  had  left  with  orders  not 
to  have  it  delivered  until  then.  The  color  and  ex 
ultation  came  back  into  Miss  MacClare 's  face,  and 
she  waited  until  after  the  waiter  was  gone  before  she 
opened  her  letter.  It  was  very  short  and  written  in 
a  clear  hand,  but  it  took  her  a  long  time  to  read. 

It  stated  that  the  writer,  Thomas  Lockwood  Suy 
dan,  was  then,  at  the  moment  when  Tibbie  would  be 
reading  his  letter,  on  his  way  to  Delaware,  and  that, 
unless  more  of  his  niggers  should  run  away,  it  was 
not  likely  that  he  would  again  visit  New  York  for 
some  time  to  come. 

When  he  did  so,  however,  he  would  make  special 


MISS  MAC  CLARE'S  POPULARITY.  407 

inquiry  for  Miss  MacClare,  at  her  hotel,  and  would 
hope  for  the  pleasure  of  once  more  listening  to  her 
wonderful  voice  and  witnessing  her  remarkable  per 
formances.  Mr.  Suydaii  expressed  his  appreciation 
of  her  valuable  services  in  his  efforts  to  recover  his 
property.  He  knew  that  she  would  regret  the  fact 
that  they  had  proved  unsuccessful.  It  would  not 
be  necessary  to  renew  them,  however,  as  the  most 
valuable  part  of  his  property  was  beyond  reach  — 
Havilah  Moore  having  died  on  the  previous  even 
ing  —  and,  as  for  the  child,  he  had  abandoned  all 
intention  of  taking  her  South. 

In  regard  to  the  little  ceremony  planned  for  to 
day,  that  would,  of  course,  have  to  be  abandoned. 
Indeed,  Mr.  Suydan  made  it  clear  to  Miss  MacClare 
that  it  was  a  plan  which  he  had  never  seriously  con 
templated  carrying  out,  and  which  he  had  invented 
for  her  amusement.  In  closing,  Mr.  Suydaii  ex 
pressed  his  satisfaction  in  leaving  Miss  MacClare  in 
a  position  so  agreeable  and  profitable  to  her,  and 
was  happy  to  have  been  the  means  of  securing  it  for 
her. 

Tibbie's  face  paled  again  as  soon  as  she  began  to 
read  Mr.  Suydan 's  letter,  and  her  color  did  not  re 
turn.  When  she  had  read  it  all  through,  she  began 
at  the  beginning  and  read  it  again,  and  then  she 
read  it  a  third,  and  a  fourth,  and  many  more  times. 
When  the  waiter  came  to  carry  away  her  tray,  she 
was  sitting  with  the  letter  open  before  her,  as  if  she 
were  still  reading  it.  The  waiter  left  the  room 
without  her  having  either  seen  or  heard  him. 

Did  ever  a  day  drag  itself  along  so  slowly?     The 


408  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

clock  on  the  mantelpiece  clacked  away  at  the  minutes 
and  was  so  long  in  piecing  off  enough  for  an  hour 
that  it  seemed  as  if  Time  had  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
Tibbie  sat  with  her  letter  and  left  Time  to  himself. 
She  knew  the  letter  by  heart  presently,  for  her  lips 
moved  as  if  she  were  repeating  it,  and  she  did  not 
miss  a  word.  The  waiter  knocked  at  her  door  a 
little  after  four  o'clock,  and,  as  she  did  not  answer, 
came  into  the  room.  Miss  MacClare  was  a  favor 
ite  of  the  waiter's;  he  enjoyed  her  performances 
immensely,  from  the  retirement  of  a  china-closet, 
and  was  assiduous  in  providing  the  small  properties 
required  for  them.  It  troubled  him  now  because 
she  had  scarcely  tasted  her  breakfast  and  had  not 
touched  her  luncheon.  He  found  her  apparently 
still  reading  the  letter  which  he  had  brought  to  her 
three  hours  before,  and  he  had  to  address  her  several 
times  before  she  noticed  him.  When  she  did  so,  she 
looked  at  him  strangely.  He  asked  if  she  wanted 
anything.  She  answered  "No,"  but  she  did  not 
understand  who  he  was  or  what  he  wanted. 

By  and  by  it  began  to  grow  dusk,  and  Tibbie 
turned  her  head  to  look  again  at  the  man  and  ask 
why  he  stayed.  She  got  up  and  moved  about  the 
room,  talking  to  him  as  she  did  so.  She  told  him 
to  hand  her  her  bonnet  and  veil  from  the  bed,  and 
then  she  got  them  herself.  She  asked  him  to  see  if 
her  trunk  was  locked,  to  give  her  the  key  to  put  into 
her  pocket,  to  put  her  purse  and  handkerchief  into 
the  little  reticule  on  the  bureau.  No,  no !  he  must 
not  touch  the  letter  —  she  would  take  care  of  that 
herself;  she  would  fasten  it  in  the  bosom  of  her 


MISS  MAC  CLARE'S  POPULARITY.  409 

dress  for  the  present.  But  she  wanted  the  waiter  to 
understand  once  for  all,  that  he  was  to  obey  orders 
and  do  nothing  unless  he  was  told  to.  He  might 
hand  her  the  gloves  from  the  top  drawer ;  no  — 
never  mind  the  mantle  until  she  asked  for  it;  she 
wished  to  put  her  gloves  on  first ;  if  he  wished  to 
retain  his  position,  he  must  not  annoy  her  by  being 
officious.  There!  Now  her  gloves  were  fastened, 
he  might  bring  the  mantle  and  help  her  arrange  it. 
She  told  him  to  come  over  to  the  mirror,  where  she 
could  see  to  pin  it ;  he  might  stand  behind  her  and 
place  it  over  her  shoulders  —  so  —  that  would  do. 
Now  he  might  go  downstairs  and  wait  for  her. 

She  was  before  the  mirror,  by  the  window,  where 
there  was  plenty  of  light  to  show  the  reflection  of 
her  figure  plainly.  Yet  even  when  she  put  her 
hands  up  over  her  shoulders  to  take  the  mantle 
from  the  man  to  whom  she  was  talking,  there  was 
no  reflection  in  the  glass  of  any  person  beside  her 
self.  The  waiter  went  away  two  hours  ago  and 
Tibbie  was  alone ! 

She  arranged  the  mantle  and  her  bonnet  ribbons 
very  precisely.  Her  hands  fluttered  from  one  part 
of  her  dress  to  another,  and  she  felt  to  see  if  her 
bracelets  and  breastpin  were  securely  fastened.  Then 
she  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  looked  about 
her.  The  shadows  were  settling  in  the  corners,  but 
it  was  not  dark  by  any  means.  Everything  was 
distinguishable.  Tibbie  said  over  all  the  things  to 
herself  —  this  was  the  bed,  there  was  the  bureau, 
and  the  lounge,  her  trunk,  and  the  washstand ;  there 
was  the  place  011  the  edge  of  the  pitcher  where  a 


410  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

piece  was  chipped  out.  Tibbie  had  opened  the 
window  and  a  little  breeze  came  in,  blowing  the 
curtain  gently  into  the  room;  she  watched  it  shake 
a  little  and  then  cling  to  the  window  pane  above, 
before  it  swelled  out ;  when  the  breeze  died  away  the 
curtain  dropped  into  its  place.  The  twilight  deep 
ened.  Tibbie  opened  the  door  of  her  room  and  went 
into  the  hall.  "No  —  come  back!  "  she  said  to  the 
waiter.  She  would  wait  until  those  people  had 
gone  into  their  rooms.  Now  look  again,  and  see  if 
she  could  get  down  the  stairs  and  out  the  front  door 
without  being  seen.  Yes?  Very  well,  —  then  she 
would  go. 

The  waiter  was  not  there,  but  Tibbie  had  watched 
for  herself,  over  the  banisters. 

The  streets  were  very  noisy.  Crowded  omni 
buses,  carriages,  tradesmen's  wagons  and  vehicles 
of  every  description  were  hurrying  to  deposit  people 
and  goods  at  their  destinations.  Tibbie  stepped  on 
to  the  sidewalk,  looked  up  and  down  at  the  crowds 
going  both  ways,  and  then,  with  a  strained,  hurried 
look,  as  if  she  were  afraid  of  being  late,  she  walked 
rapidly  away. 

The  boarders  at  the  Empire  Hotel  looked  in  vain 
for  Miss  MacClare  to  entertain  them  on  that  evening 
and  on  subsequent  ones.  They  worried  their  land 
lady  with  inquiries  and  suspicions  which  reflected 
unpleasantly  upon  her  treatment  of  Tibbie.  They 
came  to  the  decision  that  the  disappearance  of  their 
favorite  was  owing  to  some  gross  injustice  on  the 
landlady's  part,  and  refused  to  believe  that  there 
could  be  any  other  reasons  to  account  for  it.  It 


MISS  MAC  CLARE'S  POPULARITY.  411 

was  impossible  for  her  to  provide  anybody  who  could 
entertain  them  as  Miss  MacClare  had  done,  and  the 
popularity  of  the  house  suffered.  Of  course  the  poor 
landlady  was  blameless,  as  it  had  been  for  her  in 
terest  to  keep  Miss  MacClare  and  to  treat  her  well. 
She  tried  her  best  to  convince  the  boarders  that  she 
had  suffered  a  martyrdom  from  Tibbie's  whims  and 
tantrums,  and  showed  Tibbie's  trunk  as  proof  of  her 
own  irresponsibility  concerning  her  disappearance. 
But  the  boarders  regarded  the  trunk  as  evidence 
that  the  landlady  was  keeping  unlawful  possession 
of  Miss  MacClare 's  property.  One  after  another 
the  visitors  left  the  hotel,  which  only  began  to  pick 
up  its  prosperity  again  with  the  arrival  of  strangers 
to  whom  Tibbie  and  her  reputation  were  unknown. 

But,  although  Tibbie's  admirers  had  lost  her  for 
ever,  she  had  another  audience  who,  in  a  different 
way,  profited  by  her  performances.  On  an  island 
in  the  East  River,  in  an  asylum  where  whims  and 
tantrums  were  dealt  with  professionally,  Miss  Mac- 
Clare  appeared  in  a  new  role.  After  she  recovered 
from  a  serious  illness  which  afflicted  her  in  the  be 
ginning  of  her  stay  there,  she  introduced  herself  to 
the  inmates  and  physicians  as  a  bride.  Her  name, 
she  said,  was  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Lockwood,  and 
she  made  it  understood  that  she  was  a  person  of 
great  distinction.  She  expected  the  Honorable 
Mr.  Lockwood  to  call  for  her  in  a  few  moments  and 
would  put  on  her  bridal  veil  immediately,  that  she 
might  not  keep  him  waiting.  As  she  made  it  a 
matter  of  great  importance,  she  was  allowed  to  keep 
a  piece  of  mosquito-netting  which  she  had  claimed, 


412  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

and  to  fasten  it  on  her  hair  to  suit  herself.  The 
occupation  of  arranging  it  became  a  daily  one,  and 
was  so  soothing  to  her  that  those  who  waited  upon 
her  encouraged  her  in  it  and  provided  her  frequently 
with  fresh  pieces  of  netting.  There  were  many 
occasions  when,  after  her  veil  was  satisfactorily 
arranged,  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Lockwood  joined 
some  of  the  patients  in  the  parlor  where  they  assem 
bled  for  simple  entertainments  and  diversion.  She 
would  enter  the  room  in  a  stately  way,  and  greet 
the  company  as  her  wedding  guests.  There  were 
times  when  the  character  and  differences  of  the 
many  whims  among  the  company  created  unrest  and 
discord,  and  when,  at  the  request  of  one  of  the 
physicians,  Tibbie  would  sing  Scotch  ballads.  But 
she  would  not  sing  for  anybody  excepting  this  par 
ticular  gentleman,  whom  she  mistook  for  a  German, 
and  who  was,  she  insisted,  her  best  friend  and  a  very 
famous  musician.  For  him  her  voice  would  often 
ring  out  through  the  long  corridors  and,  with  touches 
of  its  old  passion,  would  gradually  subdue  the  dis 
cord  and  bring  upon  the  torn,  unhappy  minds  a 
spirit  of  quiet  and  of  peace. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

THE   STANWOOD   CODE. 

WHEN  Horace  Desborough  told  Mr.  Stanwood 
what  he  had  failed  so  signally  in  making  Rachel  be 
lieve  —  that  he  had  nothing  to  give  her  —  the  answer 
which  he  received  surprised  him.  He  had  expected 
to  enter  into  explanations  concerning  his  ability  to 
provide  a  home  and  earn  a  living  for  himself  and  a 
wife,  but,  just  as  he  thought  he  was  stating  his  case 
finely,  Mr.  Stanwood  cut  him  short.  With  a  pleas 
ant  smile  of  conviction  Mr.  Stanwood  said :  "  Thee 
need  not  go  into  further  details,  Horace;  I  believe 
that  a  young  man  who  sacrifices  the  prospect  of 
worldly  success  for  a  principle  as  thee  did  when 
thee  left  the  firm  of  Graythorn  &  Benderly,  has  no 
chance  of  remaining  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder.  Thee 
will  climb  up  again  fast  enough,  and  meanwhile  " 

It  was  not  so  easy  to  say  the  rest,  and  Mr.  Stan- 
wood  shook  Horace's  hand  in  silence  until  he  could 
add:  "meanwhile  it  will  be  good  to  keep  our  dear 
daughter  with  us." 

This  was  new  reasoning  for  a  young  man  brought 
up  as  Horace  had  been.  "And  you,  too,  trust  me ?  " 
he  asked  Mrs.  Stanwood,  who  sat  by  knitting.  "Yes ; 
thee  has  proved  thyself  and  we  are  satisfied,"  she 
answered.  The  little  lady  had  more  to  say,  and  that 


414  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

also  was  very  different  from  anything  Horace  had 
expected.  In  her  old-fashioned  way,  knitting  while 
she  talked,  she  said  :  — 

"I  have  a  Constitution  and  set  of  By-Laws  to 
offer  thee  and  Rachel,  and  if  you  will  abide  by  them, 
I  think  you  will  get  along :  Make  your  wants  few 
and  live  a  day  at  a  time ;  that  is  the  Constitution, 
and  these  are  the  By-Laws  :  Keep  out  of  debt,  and 
do  not  borrow  trouble." 

Horace  watched  her  knit  a  few  rows  around  the 
instep  of  a  gray  yarn  stocking.  She  looked  so  con 
tented  and  so  —  he  did  not  know  what  to  call  it  — 
Able  ?  Strong  ?  Her  hands  moved  with  an  accuracy 
which  seemed  unerring:  he  remembered  that  Ra 
chel's  had  moved  so  that  evening  when  he  watched 
her  knit  the  little  purse  which  he  had  in  his  vest 
pocket.  The  stitches  followed  one  another  with  pre 
cision,  and  the  stocking  was  sure  to  come  out  perfect. 
Horace  had  never  thought  of  anybody  knitting 
stockings  excepting  old  women  in  the  country.  His 
mind  drew  a  contrast  between  Mrs.  Stan  wood  and 
his  mother;  he  wished  that  his  mother  knitted.  He 
did  not  care  for  the  stockings,  which  he  thought 
would  not  be  very  nice  to  wear,  but  the  occupation 
of  making  them  looked  comfortable. 

"Father  Time  has  a  wonderful  way  of  straighten 
ing  things  out,  if  he  is  only  given  a  chance,"  said 
Mrs.  Stanwood. 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Horace,  smiling 
incredulously.  "It  seems  to  me  that  Father  Time 
requires  a  good  deal  of  assistance.  What  would  he 
do  without  you,  for  instance  ?  And  I  think  he  was 


THE  STAN  WOOD  CODE.  415 

getting  things  pretty  well  tangled  in  my  case.  Don't 
you  think  he  got  me  into  a  pretty  dense  thicket?  " 

"No ;  he  brought  thee  through  it  and  showed  thee 
a  new  road  out  of  it,"  Mrs.  Stanwood  said,  pleased 
to  pursue  the  simile.  "If  thee  goes  on  as  thee  has 
been  doing  of  late,  thee  will  come  out  of  the  woods  be 
fore  long.  And  then  there  is  always  this  to  remem 
ber," —  Mrs.  Stanwood  took  off  her  spectacles  to 
look  at  Horace  while  she  said,  smiling  as  cheerfully 
as  if  she  saw  in  those  visionary  woods  the  lighted 
palace  of  fairytales:  "If  thee  and  Rachel  should 
get  lost,  there  will  always  be  home  to  come  to.  Thee 
must  not  forget  that  now  thee,  as  well  as  Rachel, 
has  thy  share  of  all  we  have."  And  the  dear  little 
lady  went  on  with  her  knitting,  unconscious  of 
having  said  anything  but  what  was  the  veriest 
commonplace. 

The  Stanwood  code  was  all  commonplace,  but  it 
was  new  to  Horace.  He  had  expected  Rachel's 
parents  to  meet  him  with  questions  and  doubts,  and 
they  gave  him  only  confidence.  The  fact  that  he 
had  lost  his  money  was  to  his  advantage:  had  he 
come  to  offer  Rachel  the  position  and  income  which 
he  had  sacrificed,  the  chance  was  that  he  would  not 
have  been  accepted.  He  said  to  these  people,  "I 
have  lost  all  I  had,"  and  they  answered,  "We  think 
thee  has  gained,  not  lost!"  Money  which  should 
come  to  him  now  from  his  parents  would  be  unwel 
come  —  almost  like  charity. 

In  deference  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Desborough  it  was 
deemed  best  not  to  make  Horace  and  Rachel's  en 
gagement  public  at  present.  Horace  wrote  about  it 


416  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

to  his  father  and  mother,  knowing  that  they  would 
accuse  him  of  folly  of  the  weakest  description.  He 
wrote  at  length,  but  feeling  a  certainty  of  its  being 
misunderstood,  of  the  unselfish  attitude  of  the  Stan- 
woods.  To  Grace  he  gave  his  full  confidence, 
claiming  her  sympathy.  In  both  letters  there  was 
the  unmistakable  evidence  of  his  purpose.  He  might 
have  to  wait,  perhaps  even  for  years,  but  Rachel 
Stan  wood  was  to  be  his  wife.  That  there  was  any 
opening  for  objections  or  protest,  on  the  part  of  his 
parents,  was  not  hinted  at.  He  wrote  to  them  from 
an  attitude  of  entire  independence.  He  took  a  less 
aggressive  standpoint  than  they  might  have  expected. 
He  added  more  of  his  old  confidence  than  he  had 
assumed  since  their  differences.  He  wrote  frankly 
what  money  he  was  earning  and  what  prospect  he 
had  of  earning  more,  and  there  was  in  his  letter  no 
trace  of  an  expectation  that  they  would  help  him. 

On  the  contrary  his  pride  of  independence  was  so 
evident  that  it  made  interference  with  it  impossible. 
Enclosed  in  his  letter  was  one  from  Rachel  to  Grace 
—  the  first  she  had  written  since  Grace  had  gone 
away.  She  had  felt  herself  under  the  disapproval 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Desborough  and  had  withdrawn 
from  her  intimate  relation  with  Grace  as  soon  as  she 
knew  that  the  girl  was  to  be  taken  away  to  Europe 
-  "out  of  harm's  way,"  as  she  called  it. 

Rachel  had  not  the  power  to  do  things  by  halves ; 
her  opinions  were  positive  and  her  natural  force  of 
character  led  her  to  extremes  when  it  came  to  action. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Desborough  thought  that  she  was 
accountable  for  their  children's  abolitionism,  out  of 


THE  STAN  WOOD  CODE.  417 

which  grew  all  their  troubles  —  Horace's  abandon 
ment  of  his  position,  Grace  and  Will  falling  in  love 
with  each  other.  They  were  going  to  take  Grace 
away  to  cure  her  of  one  folly,  at  least,  and  Rachel 
would  step  aside  and  let  them  try  it.  That  was 
her  reasoning.  So  she  allowed  Grace  to  go  away 
without  a  word  about  the  whole  matter,  and  left 
to  her  all  the  moves  as  to  letter -writing  and  confi 
dences. 

Grace  had  not  made  them,  of  course.  She  could 
stand  by  her  principles,  but  she  could  not  do  any 
more.  She  would  be  an  abolitionist  and  she  would 
be  faithful  to  Will  until  she  died,  but  she  could  more 
easily  give  up  her  rights,  when  it  came  to  details, 
than  fight  to  keep  them.  So,  between  herself  and 
Rachel,  there  had  been  no  communication  beyond 
such  occasional  messages  of  friendship  as  were  con 
veyed  in  letters  to  and  from  Horace. 

When  Horace  showed  Rachel  the  letter  which  he 
wrote  to  his  father  and  mother,  she  recognized  the 
strength  of  her  position  toward  his  sister  and  wrote 
a  simple  little  note  expressive  of  sisterly  feeling. 
It  was  a  trial  to  her  not  to  express  more,  but  she 
had  a  restraining  consciousness  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Desborough's  eyes  reading  her  note.  Her  heart 
went  out  to  Grace,  though,  with  an  abundance  of 
new  tenderness  and  an  intense  desire  to  help 
straighten  things  out,  that  she,  too,  might  have  her 
share  of  joy.  If  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Desborough  could 
only  know  the  truth  about  Will,  what  a  fine  fellow 
he  really  was,  they  would  feel  comfortable  about 
Grace.  Any  girl  in  the  care  of  Will  Hedges  would 


418  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

be  so  safe,  and  so  sure  of  happiness.  Kachel  won 
dered  if  her  mother  could  not  write  to  Mrs.  Des- 
borough  and  so  put  matters  that  they  would  be  clear. 
Her  mother  was  so  wise,  so  clear-sighted,  and  had  so 
much  power  in  smoothing  troubled  waters.  If  she 
wrote,  it  might  help  all  four  young  people  and  do 
wonders  toward  a  general  reconciliation.  Rachel 
consulted  Horace  about  it,  but  he  was  at  once  op 
posed  to  anything  like  overtures  coming  from  the 
Stan  wood  family.  His  ideas  of  conventionality  were 
rigid  in  the  matter;  his  father  and  mother  must 
first  send  a  proper  message  of  welcome  to  Rachel. 
After  that  there  would  "be  time  to  consider  a  next 
step,  but  until  then  he  meant  to  support,  as  well  as 
he  could,  the  dignity  of  the  Stanwood  family. 

It  was  just  as  well  for  him  to  take  that  position, 
for  family  dignity  was  not  much  thought  about  by 
the  Stanwoods.  Poor  Mrs.  Stanwood  knew  nothing 
about  the  conventional  methods  of  maintaining  it, 
and  the  proprieties  which  Horace  clung  to  bothered 
her.  To  her  thinking,  right  was  right  and  wrong 
wrong ;  if  they  made  a  study  of  how  to  pursue  the 
one  and  avoid  the  other,  dignity  and  propriety  would 
take  care  of  themselves.  But  she  settled  down  con 
tentedly  to  abide  by  the  clause  in  the  family  Con 
stitution,  "  Live  a  day  at  a  time,"  and  did  not 
write. 

Burton  River ston  returned  to  America  during 
September,  and  surprised  his  friends  by  setting 
vigorously  to  work  to  find  something  to  do.  He 
also  surprised  the  Morton  family  by  making  a  call 
upon  them  and  telling  them  boldly  of  his  purpose. 


THE  STAN  WOOD  CODE.  419 

lie  was  very  frank,  very  honest,  and  very  simple 
about  it. 

He  said  he  was  very  tired  of  loafing  and  was  go 
ing  to  try  work  for  a  while.  He  showed  his  simpli 
city  by  repeating  his  call  on  various  occasions  and 
singling  out  Susy  Morton  as  the  special  recipient  of 
his  confidence. 

Burton  was  not  in  search  of  a  field  to  conquer,  in 
place  of  the  one  which  he  had  lost;  he  wanted  sym 
pathy  and  encouragement,  and  was  making  rounds 
of  visits  among  his  friends  in  pursuit  of  both.  He 
was  not  the  kind  of  fellow  to  be  held  up  entirely  by 
his  own  mettle ;  he  needed  propping.  And  he  hit 
upon  Susy  as  a  good  prop.  Susy  did  not  know  that 
she  was  a  prop  at  all,  but  her  innocence  made  her  all 
the  better  for  the  purpose. 

She  commended  Burton  for  being  ambitious  to  go 
into  business,  thought  it  would  agree  with  him,  and 
asked  him  if  he  had  picked  up  the  idea  in  Europe, 
or  if  it  was  original.  He  told  her  honestly  that 
Miss  Stanwood  had  given  it  to  him,  before  he  went 
away.  Burton  could  not  avoid  talking  about  Miss 
Stanwood,  when  an  opportunity  offered;  he  was  not 
the  kind  of  person  to  bottle  up  his  woes.  His  open 
ness  was  a  safeguard  and  helped  him  in  getting  over 
his  disappointment.  Susy  thought,  — 

"  I  wonder  what  effect  it  will  have  when  you  learn 
that  she's  'bespoke'!"  She  asked  him. about  his 
travels.  He  told  her  all  about  the  good  and  bad 
hotels  to  stop  at,  the  poor  coffee  and  accommoda 
tions  at  Zermatt,  the  dreadful  weather  and  low  rates 
of  cab-hire,  and  finally  settled  down  to  what  Susy 


420  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

wanted,  an  account  of  the  Desboroughs,  with  details 
concerning  Grace. 

Susy  had  to  work  to  get  at  facts,  because  of  Bur 
ton's  absorption  in  himself  and  his  scheme  of  going 
into  business.  What  interested  him  about  Miss 
Desborough  was  that  "  she  was  so  nice  to  talk  to." 

"I  must  be  that  too,"  thought  Susy,  but  she  asked 
aloud  what  they  talked  about.  And  it  was  in  this 
way  that  she  found  out  about  those  talks  between 
Grace  and  Burton,  and  decided  that  Grace  was  sat 
isfactorily  homesick. 

"Then  she  was  always  there,  you  know,"  Burton 
said.  "The  others  were  sight-seeing  a  good  deal, 
and  the  Percival  Grays  and  Rotherwells  carried  Miss 
Gray  thorn  off  all  the  time.  They  had  everything 
their  own  way,  you  know,  and  I  had  to  take  my 
chance  of  seeing  Miss  Desborough  when  I  could 
get  it.  Miss  Graythorn  is  pretty  clever  at  planning 
things,  but  then  she  just  followed  the  lead  of  the 
Rotherwells  and  Grays  —  I  beg  their  pardons,  the 
Percival  Grays.  When  either  of  those  families  is 
about,  it  is  pretty  sure  to  rule  the  empire,  you 
know,  Miss  Morton." 

"Why?"  asked  innocent  little  Susy,  looking  for 
her  emery.  "Are  the  Percivals  and  Rotherwell 
Grays  anybody  in  particular?" 

Burton  Riverston  looked  at  her  as  if  he  could  not 
believe  h;s  ears,  and  then  went  off  into  a  fit  of 
laughter.  He  said,  when  he  could  speak,  that  he 
would  give  the  price  of  a  Grisi  and  Mario  opera-box 
to  hear  her  ask  that  question  in  the  hearing  of  his 
mother  and  Mrs.  Desborough.  Then  he  informed 


THE  STAN  WOOD  CODE.  421 

her  that  "if  she  would  take  several  gallons  of  the 
richest  part  of  the  Cream  of  Society  and  boil  it  down 
to  about  a  thimbleful,  she  would  get  a  concentrated 
essence  called  Rotherwell  or  Percival  Gray." 

"And  to  think  of  your  getting  their  names 
twisted!"  Burton  said,  laughing  again.  "I 
wouldn't  have  missed  that  for  anything.  But  let 
me  warn  you  to  be  careful,  Miss  Susy.  If  you  alter 
either  of  those  names  by  so  much  as  a  letter,  or 
drop  out  a  part,  as  I  did,  you  711  make  the  hair  of 
New  York  society  stand  on  end.  We  must  both  be 
careful.  I  promise  never  to  tell  that  you  did  one, 
and  you  must  never  tell  that  I  did  the  other,  will 
you?" 

"I  don't  meet  the  kind  of  people  to  tell,"  said 
Susy,  biting  off  her  thread.  Screwing  up  her  eyes 
to  see  better  while  she  threaded  her  needle,  she 
added:  "We  don't  care  who  people  are.  I  never 
see  the  cream  of  society,  except  by  accident,  and 
then  I  don't  know  it.  It 's  only  the  milk  which 
finds  its  way  here." 

The  thread  went  through  the  eye  of  her  needle  at 
last,  while  he  was  laughing  again  at  her. 

"That  violet  hidden  somewhere  under  a  mossy 
stone  can't  compare  with  her  in  innocence,"  Burton 
thought,  and  decided  that  she  was  the  freshest, 
most  entertaining  girl  he  had  ever  known. 

"Didn't  Miss  Desborough  go  anywhere?"  she 
asked. 

"Not  if  she  could  help  it;  she  was  used  up,  I 
think."  Burton  said.  "I  don't  think  she  was  well 
-Europe  doesn't  seem  to  agree  with  her." 


422  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

"Pining!  "  thought  Susy,  with  satisfaction.  She 
wanted  Grace  to  pine,  if  that  was  the  only  way  to 
bring  her  father  and  mother  to  reason. 

On  his  way  home  Burton  laughed  by  himself  at 
the  simplicity  of  Miss  Susy  Morton.  "Oh,  mother 
and  Clementina!  "  he  said  to  himself,  "what  would 
be  your  feelings  if  you  knew  that  a  Riverstoii  was 
recognized  as  'only  milk  '  ?  And  may  be  skimmed, 
at  that?  What  a  trump  she  was,  not  to  know  she 
had  said  it!" 

Susy  was  quite  as  simple  -  minded  as  Burton 
thought  her,  concerning  the  milk  of  society,  but 
she  had  serious  designs  working  up  in  her  busy 
mind.  When  Burton  called  again  she  drew  him 
on  to  talking  more  about  Grace,  until  she  felt  con 
vinced  that  Grace  was  homesick  and  lonely  enough 
to  prove  her  entire  fidelity  to  Will  Hedges.  That 
was  the  point  which  concerned  Susy.  She  was  very 
fond  of  Grace  Desborough,  but  Grace  was  nothing 
to  her  in  comparison  with  William  Hedges.  Will 
was  like  a  brother  to  Rebecca  and  Susy  Morton. 
He  had  lost  his  parents  when  he  was  a  little  fellow, 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morton  had  stood  in  their  places 
for  him.  His  mother  had  been  Mrs.  Morton's 
sister.  So  Susy's  interest  was  enlisted  in  Will's 
behalf,  and  she  made  up  that  simple  mind  of  hers 
that  she  had  a  right  to  show  as  much  feeling  as  she 
chose.  She  decided  to  express  it  in  a  letter  to 
Grace,  and  she  was  going  to  compose  it  with  ex 
treme  care.  She  was  not  going  to  hurry  about  it, 
and  she  set  to  work  gathering  her  material  with 
deliberation.  If  Miss  Gray  thorn  had  any  serious 


THE  STAN  WOOD  CODE.  423 

intention  of  entering  the  lists  as  champion  of  this 
pair  of  lovers,  she  would  have  to  be  quick  about  it, 
that  is,  if  she  wanted  the  field  to  herself. 

The  crisis  in  the  story  of  Havilah  came,  and  with 
it  came  Susy's  decision  what  to  write  to  Grace 
about.  She  set  aside  all  her  carefully  collected 
material  and  wrote  a  full  account  of  what  had  hap 
pened,  from  the  moment  when  Horace  and  Will  saw 
Havilah  escape  over  the  graveyard  wall,  to  the  mo 
ment  when  Horace  told  her  that  her  child  was  free. 
Her  story  was  true  and  straightforward  in  every  de 
tail;  Horace  was  the  hero  of  it.  Susy  put  Will 
only  where  he  belonged  in  it.  But  she  did  not 
leave  him  out;  he  was  there,  and  Grace  could  not 
follow  the  story  without  seeing  him  all  through  it. 
Susy's  eyes  were  red  with  crying  when  she  finished; 
for  she  wrote  from  a  full  heart. 

"There!  "  she  said  to  herself,  when  she  had  sealed 
and  addressed  her  letter,  "If  that  does  n't  help 
Grace  to  a  good,  rousing  fit  of  homesickness,  I 
haven't  any  opinion  at  all  of  her! " 

The  evening  after  she  had  mailed  her  letter  she 
went  to  take  tea  with  Rachel. 

"And  I  wish  Grace  would  mope  herself  sick 
enough  to  frighten  her  father  and  mother  nearly  to 
death!  "  Susy  said  to  Rachel  when,  after  tea,  the 
two  were  taking  a  stroll  in  the  garden. 

"Sue  Morton,  what  a  wicked  little  thing  thee  is!  " 
exclaimed  Rachel,  and  then,  with  a  wish  to  be  loyal 
to  Horace's  parents,  she  added :  "  When  they  find  out 
what  a  noble  fellow  Will  is,  their  feelings  will  alter. 
I  wish  we  could  do  something  to  help." 


424  EACHEL  STANWOOD. 

"I  'm  going  to,"  said  Susy,  interested  in  getting 
the  most  off  the  core  of  an  apple  she  had  been  eating. 
Her  letter  had  but  just  started  on  its  way,  and  she 
felt  at  liberty  to  speak  in  the  future. 

"How?"  asked  Eachel. 

"I  'm  going  to  write  to  Grace  and  put  her  in  a 
panic  about  Will,"  said  Susy. 

"That  won't  help,  Sue,"  said  Rachel  in  a  some 
what  matronly  manner.  "She  '11  let  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Desborough  read  thy  letter,  and  it  will  make  things 
worse  than  they  are  now ;  and  they  are  bad  enough, 
dear  knows." 

"I  can't  help  that,"  said  Susy,  aiming  her  apple- 
core  at  the  vegetable  bed  and  watching  it  fly  off  at 
a  right  angle.  "I  'm  not  responsible  for  her  fa 
ther  and  mother.  Nor  for  Grace,  either ;  if  I  was, 
I  'd  "-  She  stooped  to  pick  up  some  pebbles,  and 
tried  to  make  one  go  straighter  than  the  apple -core 
had  gone.  "If  I  could,  I  'd  make  her  do  some 
thing  bad." 

"Now,  Sue,  thee  is  on  a  prance  and  had  better 
stop!  "  Rachel  said,  impatiently. 

"No,  I  'm  not,"  said  Susy,  looking  all  about  her. 
"Where  did  that  stone  go?  Why  on  earth  can't  a 
girl  throw?  And  I'm  not  going  to  stop,  because 
I  'm  talking  common-sense.  I  don't  mean  I  'd  make 
her  do  anything  wicked  —  Indians  and  wild  horses, 
together,  could  n't.  I  mean  a  nice,  wholesome  little 
sin,  just  big  enough  to  show  her  mettle.  She  's  got 
plenty  of  it,  if  she  'd  only  show  it." 

" Show  it !  "  exclaimed  Rachel  indignantly.  "I  'd 
like  to  know  who  ever  showed  mettle  more  decidedly 


THE  STAN  WOOD  CODE.  425 

than  she  did  when  she  declared  her  abolitionism,  and 
all  through" 

"Oh,  I  know  she  did  then,"  said  Susy.  "But 
that  was  different;  she  was  in  for  a  big  principle 
that  time,  and  she  had  to  show  her  colors  or  live  and 
,die  a  hypocrite.  Grace  couldn't  be  anything  but 
true,  to  save  her  life." 

"What  would  thee  call  'a  nice,  wholesome  little 
sin'?"  asked  Rachel. 

"  Walking  out  some  fine  day  with  Will  and  being 
married  to  him,"  said  Susy,  throwing  another  peb 
ble.  "I  wish  she  'd  come  home  and  do  that.  And 
ask  me  to  be  bridesmaid." 

"Is  thee  going  to  recommend  that  in  thy  letter?  " 
asked  Rachel.  "I  tell  thee,  thee  will  make  matters 
worse  by  writing  at  all.  And  what  is  the  use  of 
talking  about  what  neither  Grace  nor  Will" 

"  There !"  cried  Susy,  throwing  all  her  pebbles 
away  recklessly.  "I  am  glad  to  hear  thee  bring 
Will  into  consideration !  Thee  will  have  it  Grace, 
Grace,  Grace  all  the  time.  But  I  am  concerned 
about  Will.  I  want  Grace  to  know  what  I  think 
about  him,  and  what  is  due  to  him,  and,  if  she  cares 
sixpence  for  him,  to  come  home  and  marry  him.  If 
she  sees  fit  to  lie  down  and  die,  and  her  parents  see 
fit  to  let  her  do  it,  it  is  their  lookout,  but  I  don't 
mean  to  let  'em  kill  off  Will  Hedges  without  a 
struggle! " 

Rachel's  incredulous  laugh  broke  out  again  and 
she  said:  "Nonsense!  Will  is  in  very  good  condi 
tion.  And  thee  is  on  a  prance,  as  I  said  before. 
But  thee  can  rein  in  thy  steed  just  a  little  bit,  dear, 
for  Horace  says  "  — 


426  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

Susy  gave  a  funny  little  cry.  "Oh!  "  she  said, 
addressing  nobody.  "Hear  her  say  'Horace  ' !  How 
can  she  say  anything  but  'His  Grace,  the  Duke"? 
Kay,  darling,  how  does  it  feel  to  say  'Horace'  in 
the  presence?" 

"Susy  Morton,  have  done  with  thy  nonsense!" 
exclaimed  Kachel,  putting  her  arm  over  Susy's 
shoulders  and,  in  spite  of  her  protest,  enjoying  the 
girl's  fun.  "He  says" 

"Hm!  'He'!  I  can  bear  that  better,"  said 
Susy  softly,  and  then,  with  a  sudden  embrace,  she 
said:  "Go  on,  go  on,  dear!  I  am  dreadfully  mean. 
It  is  all  beautiful!  It  's  a  great  deal  more  exciting 
than  to  have  his  name  come  naturally,  with  a  real 
Quaker  bang!  I  'm  glad  thee  isn't  an  Orthodox. 
Try  it  again,  do  —  I  'm  dying  to  know  what  'Hor 
ace  '  says." 

"Thee  is  an  awful  tease,  and  thee  knows  I  'm  only 
just  learning,"  Rachel  said,  bending  her  head  over 
Susy's  to  hide  her  blushing.  "But  I  won't  be  dis 
couraged  —  this  is  practice.  Horace  says  Grace 
does  not  improve  as  his  father  and  mother  hoped, 
and  that  they  will  probably  all  come  home  in  the 
spring.  We  don't  know,  of  course,  how  they  are 
going  to  take  our  affairs  to  heart.  But  don't  write 
anything  rash,  will  thee,  Sue  dear?" 

"No — Q!"  said  Susy.  "My  letter  is  writ  and 
on  its  way,  but  I  don't  call  it  rash.  It  '11  come  in 
just  right.  But  I  don't  believe  they  '11  wait  until 
spring." 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

HOME. 

ME.  AND  MRS.  DESBOROUGH  really  had  a  Larder 
time  of  it  than  they  deserved.  The  effect  of  Susy 
Morton's  letter  went  even  beyond  her  hopes.  Not 
those  extravagant  ones  which  she  had  expressed  to 
Rachel  in  the  garden,  but  those  which  she  had 
kept  to  herself  about  "a  good  rousing  fit  of  home 
sickness."  It  awakened  Grace  from  lethargy  into  a 
state  of  mind  which  was  distressing  and  which  her 
parents  could  not  allow  to  continue.  It  ended  her 
patient  waiting.  Her  self-control  broke  down  with 
exultation  in  her  brother's  nobleness  and  the  thought 
that  it  was  Will,  nobody  but  Will,  who  had,  from  the 
beginning,  led  the  way  to  such  a  deed.  It  was  Will's 
life,  Will's  character,  to  do  such  things,  and  it 
was  his  hand  which  had  pointed  them  out  and  made 
Horace  see  them  to  do.  Horace  had  gone  like  a 
deliverer,  an  angel  of  mercy,  to  Scipio  and  Peggy's 
shanty,  but  Will  was  at  home  there!  Grace's  "liv 
ing  her  best "  was  over  with,  and  the  long  monotony 
of  her  submission  was  at  an  end.  She  sobbed  it  all 
out  in  her  mother's  arms  and  made  her  read  Susy's 
letter  to  see  it  for  herself.  Mrs.  Desborough  did 
not  see  it,  of  course,  but  how  could  she  show  Grace 
the  plain  prose  of  things  while  the  girl  was  making 
a  Jeanne  d'Arc  of  herself,  seeing  visions? 


428  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

"I  don't  know  what  all  the  young  people  are 
coming  to  —  taking  things  into  their  own  hands,  as 
they  do,"  Mrs.  Desborough  complained,  after  she 
and  her  husband  had  been  talking  some  time  about 
the  troublesome  lovers.  "What  are  you  going  to 
do,  Robert,  about  this  perfectly  ridiculous  letter  of 
Horace's?  Oh,  it  makes  me  wish  we  had  never  lived 
in  New  York;  I  wish  we  had  come  over  here  and 
settled,  when  the  children  were  young  enough  to 
manage! " 

"And  have  them  fall  in  love  with  foreigners  and 
marry  the  devil  knows  whom?"  asked  Mr.  Desbor 
ough,  with  impatience,  taking  the  cigar  out  of  his 
mouth  as  he  spoke.  They  were  sitting  in  their  par 
lor,  late  in  the  evening,  to  talk  it  all  out  in  the  quiet. 

"That  is  n't  the  way  they  do  over  here  at  all," 
said  Mrs.  Desborough,  who  was  sitting,  half  reclin 
ing,  upon  the  lounge.  "If  we  had  lived  here,  the 
children  would  have  grown  up  with  the  idea  that  it 
is  the  parents'  business  to 'arrange  those  things." 

"Yes,  perhaps,"  said  Mr.  Desborough,  scowling 
at  his  cigar.  "And  where  would  you  make  your 
selection?  A  wishy-washy  Frenchman  for  Grace? 
Or  an  Italian  ?  Or  would  you  give  her  to  an  English 
man  ?  Bah !  Talk  sense,  Marie !  " 

His  wife  had  struck  the  wrong  key;  Mr.  Desbor 
ough  hated  foreigners,  and  there  had  sprung  up  in 
his  mind  a  picture  of  one  of  them  asking  Grace  of 
him,  and,  in  contrast,  the  memory  of  Will  Hedges 
standing  before  him,  refusing  to  give  her  up,  and 
showing  every  kind  of  noble  ambition  to  make  him 
self  worthy  of  her. 


HOME.  429 

And,  after  all,  was  n't  the  fellow  doing  it  ?  What 
was  there  for  anybody  to  say  about  the  story  which 
Grace's  gossiping  little  friend  had  written?  The 
two  fellows  had  been  on  the  side  of  justice  —  the 
Southerner  was  trying  to  claim  what  did  not  belong 
to  him.  Even  Messrs.  Gray  thorn  and  Benderly 
could  not  help  recognizing  that ;  and  when  it  came 
to  a  woman  killing  herself  rather  than  go  back  into 
slavery,  it  put  all  ordinary  human  sympathy  on  her 
side,  no  matter  who  she  was.  There  was  nothing 
but  commendation  to  give  to  Horace  and  young 
Hedges  in  this  case.  And  it  was  making  an  im 
pression,  too,  which  was  going  to  help  and  not  in 
jure  Horace.  Here  was  the  letter  Mr.  Desborough 
had  received  the  other  day  from  his  partner,  which 
said:  "The  acuteness  which  served  your  son  in  his 
former  position  has  not  deserted  him  in  his  present 
one ;  he  has  discovered  a  flaw  in  the  title  of  a  slave 
holder  to  two  slaves  whom  he  was  pursuing."  It 
was  very  comfortable,  too,  to  have  justice  on  the 
side  of  the  slaves,  and  it  gave  Mr.  Desborough  the 
opportunity  to  express  his  satisfaction  in  his  son's 
course,  and  to  denounce,  for  once  and  without  re 
serve,  that  of  a  slaveholder.  He  did  so  to  his  wife, 
and  added  with  relish  his  belief  that  Horace  was 
going  to  make  his  mark  and  that  things  did  not  look 
as  if  the  firm  of  Hedges  &  Desborough  were  going 
to  do  a  starvation  business  at  all. 

"But  what  are  we  going  to  do,  Kobert?"  his 
wife  asked.  "What  are  we  going  to  do?" 

"Well,  my  dear,"  said  her  husband,  with  a  big 
sigh,  "if  you  want  my  practical  opinion,  I  '11  give 


430  EACH  EL  STAN  WOOD. 

it  to  you,  —  I  think  we  are  going  to  submit  to  the 
inevitable." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Robert?  "  asked  Mrs.  Des- 
borough,  with  irritation,  and  sitting  upright.  "Do 
you  mean  that  you  won't  oppose  this  absurd  mar 
riage?  And  can't  you  see  what  it  will  lead  to,  if 
you  don't!  With  Horace  married  to  this  Stan  wood 
girl,  and  Grace  more  than  ever  under  her  influ 
ence  —  Do  you  want  to  make  young  Hedges  more 
determined  than  ever  not  to  give  Grace  up?" 

"No,  my  dear,"  said  her  husband,  throwing  his 
cigar-stump  into  the  fireplace.  "I  don't  want  any 
of  the  four  young  people  to  marry  as  they  have 
decided  to.  If  you  ask  what  I  want,  it  is  easy  to 
answer.  I  want  Horace  to  give  up  Miss  Stan  wood, 
and  Grace  to  give  up  young  Hedges.  It  would  suit 
me  perfectly  if  Hedges  and  Miss  Stanwood  would 
pair  off  and  marry  each  other.  That  is  what  I  would 
like.  But  when  you  ask  what  we  had  better  do,  I 
say  —  certainly  in  Horace's  case,  and  perhaps  even 
in  Grace's  —  we  had  better  submit  to  what  can't  be 
helped.  Whatever  we  do  is  not  going  to  make  any 
difference  in  Horace's  course.  He  is  going  to 
marry  Miss  Stanwood." 

"And  she  has  played  her  cards  well!  "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Desborough.  "To  think  of  that  girl,  without 
family, — I  don't  believe  anybody  knows  who  the 
Stanwoods  are,  Robert,  —  to  think  of  her  carrying 
off  Horace!  I  declare  it  is  enough  to  make  one's 
blood  boil !  The  Riverstons  have  always  said  that 
her  audacity  exceeded  everything.  And  they  know 
what  they  are  talking  about,  for  Burton  tried  to  get 


HOME.  431 

her.  Think  of  that,  Robert!"  Mrs.  Desborough 
sat  upright  again  and  let  her  hands  fall  to  the  sofa, 
on  either  side  of  her.  "  Think  of  her  refusing  Bur 
ton  Riverston !  Think  of  him,  so  much  with  Grace 
and  Adele  Graythorn  as  he  was,  and  when  his 
mother  talked  to  him  about  the  girls  (she  'd  have 
been  thankful  if  he  had  taken  to  either  of  them, 
although  she  would  much  prefer  getting  Grace  for 
him),  think  of  his  telling  her  that  he  was  n't  in  the 
market  because  the  only  girl  he  wanted  had  refused 
him!" 

"  Well,  my  dear,  Miss  Stanwood  shows  good  taste 
in  preferring  Horace  to  Burt  Riverston  —  there  's 
that  to  say  for  her,"  said  Mr.  Desborough. 

"I  did  not  think  Horace  would  yield  to  her  so 
easily,"  said  Mrs.  Desborough,  in  a  wailing  tone. 
"I  thought  his  safeguard,  for  some  time  to  come, 
was  going  to  be  his  poverty.  That  's  the  only 
thing  which  has  reconciled  me  to  his  sacrificing 
everything  so,  and  refusing  even  to  draw  his  allow 
ance.  But  I  might  have  known  that  poverty  would 
be  only  an  attraction  to  the  Stan  woods;  I  believe 
they  look  upon  prosperity  as  a  crime.  If  Horace 
had  behaved  himself  and  remained  in  the  respectable 
position  he  held,  I  don't  believe  the  Stanwood  girl 
would  have  cared  a  pin  for  him." 

Mrs.  Desborough  threw  herself  dejectedly  among 
the  cushions  and  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

"There,  dear!"  said  her  husband,  moving  his 
chair  to  the  head  of  the  lounge  that  he  might  stroke 
her  hair.  "Don't  cry,  dear.  I  must  confess,  Marie, 
that  I  believe  I  'd  rather  have  Hedges  than  Burton 


432  RACHEL  STANWOOD. 

Eiverston  for  Grace.  Burton  lias  no  "business 
capacity  whatever,  and  I  'm  afraid  his  disappoint 
ment  in  love  will  send  him  to  the  dogs.  He  never 
will  do  anything  with  himself  now." 

"No,  there  you  are  mistaken,  Eobert,"  said  Mrs. 
Desborough,  drying  her  eyes.  "He  has  gone  home 
for  the  express  purpose  of  going  into  business,  and 
declares  that  it  is  Miss  Stanwood  who  has  inspired 
his  ambition." 

"He  is  n't  qualified  for  anything  I  know  of,"  said 
Mr.  Desborough.  "  What  business  does  he  propose 
to  begin  with?  " 

"When  his  mother  asked  him,"  answered  Mrs. 
Desborough,  "he  told  her  that  'he  could  wheel  a 
peddler's  cart,  if  he  could  n't  get  anything  else  to  do, 
and,  if  that  failed,  that  he  could  sweep  the  streets  ' ! 
He  was  furious  because  his  mother  and  sister  tried 
to  show  him  what  kind  of  a  girl  Miss  Stanwood 
really  was.  But  he  would  not  listen  to  a  word 
against  her,  and  told  them  that  she  had  done  more 
for  him  than  they  ever  had,  or  ever  could.  He  said 
she  had  made  him  ashamed  to  be  a  loafer  any  longer, 
and  that  he  was  going  to  do  something,  if  he  died 
for  it  —  'he  'd  earn  his  salt,  if  he  could  n't  earn  his 
bread.'  And  then  he  told  them  that  if  he  ever 
amounted  to  anything,  he  'd  have  Miss  Stamvood 
to  thank  for  it!  Now  wasn't  that  pretty  hard  for 
his  mother  to  have  to  listen  to,  Eobert?" 

"Pretty  hard,"  said  Mr.  Desborough,  smiling  a 
little  grimly  to  himself.  "But  there  is  more  in  the 
fellow  than  I  supposed."  He  went  on  stroking  his 
wife's  hair  while  she  continued:  "The  Eiverstons 


HOME.  433 

are  worried  to  death  for  fear  he  '11  take  up  some  low 
kind  of  business  which  will  disgrace  the  family. 
Just  think  of  the  harm  that  comes  from  that  girl's 
influence !  And  now  she  has  got  Horace  !  Robert, 
you  rub  my  hair  the  wrong  way,  dear.  Of  course 
•he  sees  no  difference  between  Burton  Riverston  and 
my  poor  young  man  who  wants  to  earn  a  living. 
She  'd  recommend  anything  to  him ;  she  has  no  high 
born  instincts." 

"It  will  be  some  little  consolation,  then,  to  the 
Riverstons,  to  see  her  influence  transferred  to  our 
family,"  remarked  Mr.  Desborough. 

"Oh,  dear,  of  course  it  will!  "  sighed  his  wife. 

"Well!"  said  Mr.  Desborough,  finally,  as  they 
prepared  to  go  to  bed,  "  I  'm  sorry  for  the  choice 
which  Horace  has  made,  but,  as  I  said,  we  have  got 
to  submit.  My  objections  are  not  exactly  yours; 
but  it  does  n't  make  any  difference,  because  they 
have  all  got  to  be  given  up.  As  to  the  girl's  per 
sonal  qualities  " 

"Oh,  she  's  good  enough!  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Des 
borough.  "She  would  make  an  excellent  wife  for 
somebody  in  her  own  station,  I  don't  deny  that  — 
but"- 

Mr.  Desborough  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and 
said  with  some  emphasis :  "  The  girl  who  can  make 
Burton  Riverston,  by  refusing  to  marry  him,  want 
to  stop  loafing  and  make  a  man  of  himself,  is  some 
thing  more  than  good  --  she  's  a  girl  of  charac 
ter!" 

"Good  heavens !  I  don't  deny  that,  either,"  cried 
Mrs.  Desborough.  "There  is  just  the  trouble;  she 


434  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

has  so  much  character  that  she  will  smother  us  all 
in  it.  We  shall  be  charactered  out  of  decent  so 
ciety  into  a  mob  of  abolitionists  before  we  know 
it!" 

The  last  day  of  October  brought  Horace  Desbor- 
ough  such  a  batch  of  letters  from  Europe  as  he  had 
not  received  by  any  week's  mail  since  his  family  had 
been  away.  We  give  such  quotations  from  them  as 
indicate  the  effect  which  his  and  Susy  Morton's  let 
ters  had  produced. 

Mr.  Desborough  wrote:  "Your  communication 
has  taken  us  by  storm,  although  I  suppose  we  might 
have  expected  it.  Present  our  regards  to  Miss 
Stanwood  and  her  family.  As  we  have  taken  pas 
sage  on  the  Ville  de  Havre  for  the  27th  it  is  un 
necessary  to  add  more ;  we  can  offer  our  congratula 
tions  in  person.  Have  the  house  open,  and  in  such 
readiness  for  us  as  is  possible.  On  Grace's  account, 
have  it  thoroughly  aired  and  the  fires  lighted.  As 
your  mother  will  see  you  so  soon,  she  does  not  write, 
but  asks  me  to  give  you  her  love  and  to  forward  a 
suitable  message  to  Miss  Stanwood.  I  heartily  com 
mend  your  action  in  the  case  reported  to  us  through 
a  letter  from  Miss  Morton  to  Grace  —  that  of  the 
slaveholder  who  made  a  false  claim  upon  a  woman 
and  child,  whose  title  to  freedom  you  established.  It 
is  to  be  regretted  that  the  woman  did  not  know  of 
her  title  in  time  to  prevent  her  from  taking  her 
life." 

In  the  superscriptions  of  the  other  letters,  Horace 
recognized  the  writing  of  Eloise  and  Miss  Gray- 
thorn.  Miss  Gray  thorn  wrote:  — 


HOME.  435 

MR.  HORACE  DESBOROUGH  : 

Dear  Sir,  —  In  your  new  character  of  Abolition 
ist,  I  am  uncertain  how  to  address  you,  and  would 
not  do  so  at  all,  if  I  did  not  consider  it  my  duty  to 
your  sister  Grace,  with  whom,  of  late,  I  have  been 
closely  associated,  as  you  are  aware.  I  have  not  her 
confidence,  but  I  have  ordinary  perceptions,  and,  if 
you  are  acquainted  with  the  gentleman  in  whom  she 
is  interested,  I  would  recommend  him,  through  you, 
to  take  active  steps  toward  what  I  should  call  a  suit 
able  climax  to  his  friendship.  Pardon  me,  if  I  am 
innocently  offending  the  sentiments  of  abolitionists. 

N.  B.  I  have  learned  that  the  gentleman  above 
mentioned  is  an  abolitionist  also,  and,  as  I  do  not 
understand  the  code  of  such  people,  I  may,  in  igno 
rance,  make  suggestions  which  would  be  opposed  to 
its  principles. 

I  am  fully  aware  that  the  object  for  which  said 
abolitionists  live,  move,  and  have  their  beings,  is  to 
sacrifice  for  a  principle;  if,  therefore,  the  gentleman 
in  question  should  prefer  not  to  lose  the  opportunity 
of  sacrificing  the  life,  as  well  as  the  happiness  of 
Miss  Grace  Desborough,  pray  do  not  allow  anything 
which  I  have  written  to  influence  him.  A  little 
more  patient  waiting  may  bring  about  such  a  result 
and  thereby  complete  the  amount  of  sacrifice  to 
which  the  gentleman  aspires. 

I  have  made  an  effort  to  express  myself  in  as 
legal  a  manner  as  possible,  in  order  to  be  understood, 
and  am,  Your  obedient  servant, 

ADELE  DE  M.  GRAYTHORN. 


436  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

Eloise  had  written :  — 

DEAR  HORACE,  —  There  ain't  much  to  write 
about  Grace,  because  she  lies  down  most  all  the 
time.  But  you  needent  worry  about  her  because 
they  are  going  to  get  something  to  make  her  well. 
It  is  named  Nostalger  and  it  is  made  in  America  and 
I  know  you  have  to  get  it  fresh  for  the  doctor  told 
Papa  that  he  better  take  Grace  home  to  get  it  in 
stead  of  waiting  here  and  sending  to  America  for 
it.  I  guess  it  costs  a  great  many  thousand  dollars 
because  Papa  said  he  wasent  prepared  to  get  it  right 
away  and  he  says  that  when  he  don't  want  to  buy 
very  expensive  things.  But  the  doctor  was  a  ninny 
to  think  Papa  wouldent  buy  it  no  matter  what  it 
costs  and  I  told  Mamma  1  would  give  all  my  money 
tored  paying  for  it  and  you  might  give  a  whole  lot 
more  if  you  had  stayed  at  Graythorn  and  Benderlies 
arent  you  sorry  you  left. 

Your  affectionate  sister,  Miss  BUDGET. 

P.  S.  I  guess  I  told  you  enough  about  Gracie 
this  time  and  if  you  hadent  said  you  'd  be  mad  Ide 
have  left  out  part  and  told  you  about  the  play  I 
went  to  see  last  week  arent  you  sorry  ? 

Inside  of  Miss  Budget's  letter  Horace  found  a 
note  from  Grace  which  we  give  verbatim,  as  we 
have  that  of  Miss  Graythorn. 

Grace  wrote:  "DEAR  HORACE,  —  Tell  him  I  am 
coming  home  to  him.  GRACE." 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

RIGHT  -  ABOUT   FACE  ! 

HORACE  DESBOROUGH  pored  over  his  letters  and 
gathered  from  them  the  impression  that  Grace's  con 
dition  was  more  serious  than  he  had  supposed.  His 
father's  was  worded  cautiously,  as  if  to  spare  him, 
or  prevent  him  from  alarming  Will  Hedges,  Horace 
could  not  tell  which;  from  Eloise's  he  inferred  that 
Grace's  life  depended  upon  getting  home  speedily, 
and  Miss  Graythorn  evidently  desired  him  to  convey 
to  Grace's  lover  the  impression  that  he  might,  if 
he  was  bold  and  prompt,  snatch  her  from  the  jaws 
of  death,  but  that  it  was  extremely  doubtful  if  he 
would  be  in  time.  Grace's  little  penciled  scrap 
read  something  like  a  dying  message.  Horace 
studied  the  letters  with  Rachel,  and  they  decided 
not  to  communicate  their  apprehensions  to  Will.  It 
would  be  better  on  every  account  to  have  him  and 
Grace  meet  at  her  home.  Rachel  and  her  mother 
gave  Horace  practical  assistance  in  arranging  for 
the  arrival  there  of  the  family.  Mrs.  Stanwood 
sent  Grandmother  Rab  to  superintend  things  for 
Horace,  and  Rachel  made  a  visit  herself  to  Grace's 
room,  the  only  part  of  the  house  where  she  felt  at 
liberty  to  leave  any  evidence  of  her  personal  ser 
vices.  There  she  left  her  bunches  of  autumn  leaves 
and  berries,  and  the  garden's  late  honeysuckles. 


438  EACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

But  when  the  steamer  landed  its  passengers  in 
New  York,  Grace  could  scarcely  be  called  an  in 
valid.  She  looked  pale  and  thin,  and  older  than 
she  ought  to,  but  not  at  all  as  if  her  happiness  and 
health  were  wrecked.  She  had  a  wan,  hungry  ex 
pression,  but  one,  too,  that  was  expectant  of  joy  to 
come. 

After  the  manner  of  children,  Eloise  broke  the 
ice  of  embarrassment.  As  soon  as  they  were  all 
boxed  up  in  the  carriage,  she  exclaimed,  in  a  tone 
which  had  to  be  loud  to  be  heard  above  the  street 
noises,  "Horace,  I  heard  you  tell  Gracie  that  he 
sent  her  those  roses ;  who  is  he  ? "  And  without 
waiting  for  an  answer,  she  fired  off  a  volley  of  ques 
tions  and  remarks  which  were  like  a  burst  of  fire 
works: —  "Horace,  am  I  to  say 'Miss  Stan  wood,' 
or  'Kachel,'  as  Elizabeth  does?  Will  Elizabeth  be 
my  sister  too  ?  And  have  I  got  to  have  Eichard  for 
my  brother?  I  hope  I  haven't  ;  he's  a  hateful 
tease.  Will  you  be  going  to  Quaker  meeting  in 
stead  of  church?  And,  if  you  do,  can't  I  have 
your  prayer-book  for  mine?  And  have  I  got  to 
call  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stan  wood  'Uncle'  or  'Aunt' 
anything?  One  thing  —  I  wont  say  'Uncle  Scipio' 
and  'Aunt  Peggy.'  Horace,  have  you  got  to  have 
a  lot  of  black  relations?" 

These  plain  questions  were  startling,  but  there 
was  no  better  way  to  get  over  approaches  to  awful 
subjects,  and  it  was  certainly  a  good  beginning  to 
have  everybody  forced  to  laugh. 

"  This  is  the  sort  of  thing  you  must  expect  to  hear 
a  good  deal  of,  Horace :  we  are  all  as  curious  as 


EIGHT- ABOUT  FACE.  439 

Eloise  is  to  hear  what  you  have  to  say,"  Mr.  Des- 
borough  said. 

Horace  was  glad  to  answer  and  said,  without 
hesitation  or  embarrassment:  "Well,  Miss  Budget, 
if  you  are  very  good  to  her,  I  will  get  Miss  Stan- 
wood  to  let  you  call  her  '  Rachel. '  Under  the  same 
conditions  you  may,  in  time,  secure  from  her  father 
and  mother  the  privileges  of  a  niece,  but  you  need 
not  think  of  such  a  thing  with  regard  to  Uncle 
Scipio  and  Aunt  Peggy.  For  myself,  I  have  al 
ready  asked  them  to  adopt  me  as  their  nephew." 

And  so,  under  cover  of  pleasantry,  a  good  deal 
of  difficult  conversation  was  warded  off. 

Mrs.  Desborough  was  less  conciliatory  than  her 
husband,  but  Horace  accepted  what  she  substituted 
for  cordiality.  When  Horace  made  a  move,  later 
in  the  evening,  to  go  away,  she  said:  "I  can't  do 
anything  about  the  Stanwoods,  Horace,  until  I  get 
rid  of  the  motion  of  the  steamer,  but  I  will  call 
then,  if  you  wish  it." 

"Yes,  mamma  dear,"  Horace  answered,  kissing 
her  good-night,  "I  wish  it  very  much.  After  that, 
I  will  bring  Miss  Stan  wood  here,  if  you  invite  her." 
And  his  mother  recognized  his  old,  authoritative 
manner  which  showed  her  there  was  nothing  to  be 
gained  by  resisting  his  exactions  concerning  the 
Stanwood  family. 

If  it  had  not  been  for  him,  she  would  have  inclined 
to  take  advantage  of  their  ignorance  of  social  forms. 
Their  knowledge  of  rules  which  regulate  society,  in 
questions  of  etiquette  and  conventionality,  was  su 
perficial,  and  their  very  willingness  to  be  passed  by 


440  RACHEL  STAN  WOOD. 

in  matters  of  formal  courtesy  made  Horace  watchful 
of  the  slightest  omission  on  the  part  of  his  family. 
The  social  forms  practiced  among  Quakers  were 
generally  dictated  by  feeling,  not  rules. 

The  next  morning  it  was  all  settled  with  regard 
to  William  Hedges. 

uPapa,"  said  Grace,  standing  before  him  in  the 
library,  with  Will's  roses  in  her  hand,  "will  you 
come  downstairs  ?  Mr.  Hedges  —  Will  is  there. 
He  —  sent  me  these  flowers  yesterday.  We  have 
waited  and—  Oh,  papa,  don't  you  see?  " 

She  spread  her  arms  out  and  he  saw  the  wan, 
hungry  look  in  her  face,  lifted  to  him  with  her  ques 
tion.  He  took  her  face  between  his  hands  and 
looked  into  her  eyes  a  moment;  then  he  bent  his 
head  and  kissed  her,  saying:  "Go  down  first,  my 
darling;  he  will  expect  you." 

Mrs.  Desborough  would  have  been  happier  under 
a  dispensation  of  more  form  and  less  heart.  There 
was  altogether  too  much  heart  for  her  liking,  in  the 
first  formalities,  or  informalities  which  were  offered 
by  both  the  Stanwoods  and  Mortons.  It  was  trying 
to  go  with  Grace  simply  to  call,  and  to  be  forced  at 
once  to  accept  invitations  to  tea. 

"To  think  of  that  Anti-Slavery  Fair,  Robert," 
she  said,  "and  all  Horace  had  to  say  about  the  peo 
ple  then,  and  now  —  we  are  all  going  to  tea  first  to 
'Aunt  Debby's'  and  next  to  'Aunt  Hannah's'!" 
It  did  seem  to  the  poor  woman  as  if  she  had  to  ac 
cept  Quaker  hospitality  in  pretty  large  doses.  Her 
calls  were  disappointments  in  another  way,  too ;  she 
had  expected  to  be  impressive,  and  failed  signally. 


RIGHT-ABOUT  FACE.  441 

The  Quakers  did  not  appreciate  her  pedigree,  and 
the  attitude  of  both  families  toward  her  showed  a 
consciousness  of  as  much  distinction  conferred  as 
was  to  be  received,  by  either  a  Morton  or  a  Stan- 
wood,  in  an  alliance  with  a  Desborough.  Mrs. 
Stanwood,  particularly,  aggravated  Mrs.  Desbor 
ough. 

"There  she  sat,  Robert,"  the  latter  said,  uin  her 
gray  gown  and  white  silk  shawl,  and  when  I  told 
her  that  your  mother  was  a  Wallingford  and  my 
grandfather  was  a  Farenby,  she  said  comfortably 
that  Rachel's  great-grandfather  was  a  Fusby,  and 
her  grandmother  was  a  Gleason,  or  Grayson  —  I 
forget  which.  She  does  n't  know  the  difference, 
Robert,  between  a  Fusby  and  a  Farenby!  " 

Poor  Mrs.  Stanwood  did  not,  and  never 
learned.  In  all  the  adjustments  which  followed  the 
marriages  of  Horace  and  Grace  Desborough,  Mrs. 
Desborough  suffered  most.  But,  although,  at  the 
time,  she  had  so  much  that  was  trying  to  bear,  from 
the  point  of  view  of  her  pew  in  church  and  her  all- 
important  position  in  society,  she  was  the  gainer  in 
the  end.  For,  in  a  few  years,  she  held  her  head  up 
with  the  best  of  American  aristocracy  and  boasted 
with  pride  of  her  connection  with  the  genuine  old 
abolitionists. 


wfL *""/     "' »~aiAJ-tMV^L\jjr 

Rachel   Smanwood 


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